The Trouble with Women
by Cayenne Pepper Powder
Summary: Vivien is small woman with big fears. Jack is a dirty pirate with a cutlass and a pistol. Vivien is the heir to a fortune she doesn't want. Jack would gladly take it...but no one seems to remember where it is.
1. Prologue

**Author's Notes:** (October 20th, 2006) I've been doing some extensive editing on this story. My writing has changed quite a bit since I first started and I feel that I need to get the rest of this story up to par before I can continue with new chapters. Some chapters have been changed drastically, some haven't, and some I haven't even touched yet. In any case, feel free to tell me how you like the changes.

**DISCLAIMER:** I'm sticking this baby right here so everyone knows it from the start: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, any of it's characters, storyline, ect. It all belongs to the Mouse (who shall soon take over the world).

I welcome all comments and criticism!

Enjoy!

The Trouble with Women

**Prologue **

**--**

Midst the raucous noise of the dimly lit tavern was the perfect place to conduct business. Contrary to popular belief, the more people around, the less likely someone was to be overheard. And, by chance, if anyone _did_ manage to catch a snippet of conversation, generous amounts of rum and whisky and ale were enough to wipe any curiosity from a mind and make a man forget about it before the morning came.

So, naturally, some very important negotiations took place in taverns and rowdy bars.

One accord of such nature was taking place at that moment, deep within the smoky air of the Faithful Bride; tavern extraordinaire for such a place as Tortuga. Three men sat in the corner, swathed in shadows, around a small, rounded wooden table that was riddled with knots and stained with rum. The chairs were rickety, the surroundings were questionable. It was the perfect place to gather around for a bit of pirate gossip.

"An' what of this treasure you've spoken of, George?" One man, portly and sporting large mutton-chops upon a rosy face, leaned over the table and peered at 'George', both their faces just barely visible, for the lantern light eluded this particular corner of the tavern.

George, as he was called, rolled a flagon of rum between his hands as a slow smile seemed to creep upon his face. "I knew it, I did! Ye have a mind after the largest fortune seen to us sailors in a long bit, aye?" he asked in a slightly hushed voice, beady eyes darting between the two men across from him.

The portly sailor cast a quick glance at the third occupant of the table, a man leaning on the back legs of his wobbly chair with his boots propped up on the edge of the table, a tankard of rum held in his motionless hands. Upon noticing the fat man's gaze, he tipped his head somewhat in a nod, the movement accompanies by a flash of teeth in the dim light. The rest of his face was lost to the shadows.

Once again, the portly man turned to George. "Aye, that's right. We've heard some stories floating around...the type that make me cock an ear and listen. Ye know we can't resist the thought o'treasure."

George laughed. "None o' us can, man, none o' us can," he stated, greasy face sporting a crooked smile full of rotting teeth. "But who told ye to come to me? I may have naught but a bit o' gossip in my hands, nothing useful to either o' us."

The chubby man regarded George for a moment in silence. It was interrupted as the third man shifted somewhat, the chair underneath him creaking in protest with the movement. Then, for a brief minute, the only sound was that of the rowdy men and whores of the tavern, the sounds of singing, cackling and pounding, dancing feet floating in the air around them. Then, seconds later, five gold coins were tossed onto the table. Each one rolled in circles for a moment, they came to rest in the centre of the table, the fickle lantern light glistening and dancing across them. They sparkled golden, contrasting upon the rough, stark wood.

George's eyes narrowed and he peered at the man leaning back on his chair. Again, there was a silence between the three, the sound of jaunting laughter and shouts from the drunkards up at the bar the only noise, accompanied by the quick fingers of a piano man. Then, he snatched the five coins up, peering at the two men.

"Where'd ye find such gold, Cap'n? An' such an amount?" he asked the shadowed man, surveying a coin's surface with an experience eye before peering over the trinket at the reclined man.

Maybe, for lack of a better response, or the complete truth, he answered, "On a ship, mate."

The portly man glared at George. "I trust the information you have isn't worthless pirate gob gossip only worthy for the dreamers, hmmm? Don't let us down, George."

George pocketed the coins. "My memory's been refreshed, me buckos, that is has," he stated with satisfaction, and leaned back in his chair. It squeaked in protest with the movement. "The treasure ye be after is the Bourbon treasure, kept secret an hidden-like by an ole witch and her humble guardian."

"More, George. Tis hardly enough to satisfy a child a bedtime," the portly man prompted while the remaining man stayed quiet.

The greasy man cracked another smile. "L'ile du Bourbon. Bourbon Island. It's a place south of the Africa's, east of Madagascar, I'm sure ye have a map or two with the place on it. It's very small. Tale goes that nigh twenty years 'go there was a great French Cap'n—Jacques du Bourbon. He was a pirate, mad as they come, haunting the Spanish Main with an eye to take all the Spanish gold in the Caribbean fer himself. Successful in his raids, he was, but his crew soon grew tired of the man and his relentlessness." George paused a moment to give the reclining man a hard look. "Ye see, each time the Cap'n took a ship, he stole their gold and finery and frittered it away to some secret island known only by him an' his men, hoarding every last piece until he had it all and he could settle down with his riches. But his crew was tired of the man's strange ways, so they committed mutiny and cast the Cap'n off the ship in the middle o' the Atlantic with a mind to go after his hoard and spend it on good company and better ale. But they never made it that far, because they hit a storm on their way to the island, and without having Bourbon to steer 'em out, they sunk down to Davy Jones's. So the treasure was lost."

George watched as the man leaning back on the flimsy chair took a deep swig from his mug, now seeming uninterested in the story after he'd said his part.

"Is that is, then? The treasure is Jacques du Bourbon's?" the portly man asked.

"Aye, that it is. Tis called the Bourbon treasure, cursed and lost to all of us mortal men. The hunt was abandoned no more than five anniversaries after the Cap'n's death, the treasure hunters unable to find a soul who knew where it was." At this, George let a slow, self-satisfied smile caress his dirty face.

"There's a catch," stated the third man suddenly, his low, smoky voice startling the other two men.

George regarded him with praise. "Aye, there's a catch, Cap'n. There's always a catch."

"What is it?" the portly man demanded.

Trying his very best to look mysterious, George set his rum down on the round table and looked the two men over. "There's always been one who knew of the treasure, someone the good Cap'n Jacques du Bourbon kept very secret. Most his crew didn't know it, but Bourbon has a daughter, the result of a brief affair with a wench in Madagascar. She died after trying to rid herself of the babe with castor bean, but the babe survived the ordeal an' the Cap'n sent her to Bourbon Island with a guardian, taking every chance to dote upon his daughter despite his reputation and 'er origins. They never knew each other, but it's rumoured that every month he would send her a letter with bit of fortune from his own." He leaned forward with an excited sort of grin. "He told her of the island where his gold was kept, so when 'e an' his crew had faded away she would know where to find it."

There was silence among the three save for the boisterous customers. The light flickered over the three briefly, but they were kept in the relative shadows.

"And how did you come by this?" the fat man questioned suddenly, suspicion in his voice.

"I have my ways," George replied vaguely.

Finally, the reclined man seemed interested enough to join the conversation, and shedding his bored mannerisms, removed his boots from the table and let the chair fall forward to the floor with a loud thump. And quite suddenly, much more of him could be seen that before. A worn and beaten tricornered hat sat nestled atop his head while an unruly mane of dark hair fell down past his shoulders, several beads and trinkets glimmering in the fleeting lantern light.

Startling the other men, he slammed his mug of rum unceremoniously onto the table, and with his head swaying slightly he spoke. "And to find this lost...treasure, I suppose we have to find this bonny lass first, 'ay?" he asked, slurring his words together and tilting his head to one side, the movement accompanied by a small jingle.

George nodded. "Right, Cap'n, but that's where ye have to watch out. His child is said to be a witch, an unmarried maid with a determined guardian and a secret that is hers an' hers alone."

"A witch?" the 'Cap'n' repeated, a hint of humour in his voice.

George nodded. "It's said that she placed a curse on Bourbon's crew even before the news of her dead father reached her. It's said she was the one who sent them to the depths for their betrayal."

"I don't know...she sounds like my kind of lass," was the slurred reply, accompanied by the brief flash of golden teeth in the dim light. "Betrayers...mutineers, seems like they got what they deserved in the end."

The fat man regarded his companion oddly for a moment as George went on.

"She don't take kindly to visitors. Matter o' fact, first and last man that went to her for the treasure never came back. No one's tried since then, no one's _fool_ enough to try."

Face only slightly darkened under the shadow of his hat, the third man's dark eyes flickered to George. "Are you entailing I'm a fool, mate?" he drawled lazily, leaning forward to stare at the informant.

"Despite the promises of treasure...some things are better left alone, I say," George replied stiffly.

The fat man opened his mouth to protest, but his companion quickly cut him off. "I dunno...how can a treasure named after liquor be that bad?" he grinned jokingly.

"Women are nothing but trouble, Cap'n," George warned slowly.

The Captain simply grinned. "Only to a eunuch, mate."

Frowning now, George stood up from his chair stiffly. "It was nice doin' business with you, Cap'n, but now I must go." He inclined his head to both men before walking away into the tavern's crowd.

The portly man watched him go before turning to his companion with a raised eyebrow. "Don't know if that was necessary, Jack."

"_Captain_ Jack, Mr. Gibbs," he corrected absently. "And I do believe it was. The man's got a regular old stick up his arse."

Gibbs didn't reply, but instead took George's abandoned mug of rum and took a sip. They sat in silence for a moment before Jack broke it.

"We'll be setting sail for Bourbon Island tomorrow morning, Gibbs. Get the crew and tell them there's gold to be had," he stated, and then paused before turning dark eyes onto the man. "You don't think I'm a fool, do you?"

Gibbs regarded his captain warily for a moment before shaking his head. "Daft," he only said.

Jack grinned. Then, raising his mug he tipped his hat to his first mate. "Take what you can..."

Raising his own mug, Gibbs recited the last bit, "...Give nothing back!"

The two mugs clashed together, spilling a bit of rum onto the worn old table before they were tipped up to their owners' mouths and drained of every last drop.

**--**

**Author's Notes:** Hope you like it! Drop me a review!

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	2. Petrified Vivien

The Trouble with Women

**Chapter 1**

Petrified Vivien

**--**

By no means did Vivien Brideau consider herself an eccentric woman.

Her strange manner was decidedly the outcome of being caged up in a secluded house most of her life with no one but the servants and cooks and maids to have any sort of friendly conversation with. And, to be sure, the servants and cooks and maids were not much company for a woman such as Vivien.

More often than not, she was quite fine by herself – as the _Mademoiselles_ and society's elite with their polite conversation were enough to make any woman go mad.

If someone were to give a name to Vivien's strange manner, it could, perhaps, be 'odd'. That, at least, was much more suitable than 'eccentric,' and far better than a 'raving madwoman.' Because in no shape or form did Vivien consider herself a raving madwoman. One reason being the fact that she did not _rave_—not constantly or on a regular basis, at least – and the second being that her state of mind was anything but mad. She considered herself one of the most sane of the household, in fact.

In truth, Vivien was more less the opposite of a madwoman. She wouldn't admit to anyone, but she was rather too frightened to be considered crazy or insane in any way, really. She didn't hallucinate, she wasn't an extremist (or a radical!), and goodness knows she didn't froth at the mouth. Moreover, Vivien had come to understand when someone was mad, they ran around barely clothed in the market square, prancing and otherwise acting completely foolish while shouting up to the heavens and either cursing or praising the Lord.

And _that_ was something Vivien would never subject herself to.

The people of polite society (the gentlemen and ladies) might say she was rather _avis_, or somewhat cautious. That, of course, was being far too modest.

Any bar wench or street vendor or any commoner at all that by chance had has the pleasant—or unpleasant—chance to meet Vivien Brideau would, perhaps, say she was a _paranoïaque_ _et_ _méfiant, une_ _femme_ _obsessionnelle_.

Of course, Vivien didn't consider herself to be obsessive in any way, really, but she realized to a certain extent that she was somewhat distrustful. But that, of course, was towards those who surprised, yelled, frightened, touched or otherwise approached her in any way lacking honourable intentions – and in such a case, it was perfectly honourable to _be _distrustful.

And Vivien had many reasons to be suspicious. Her life since birth had been nothing but secrecy and lies. She often felt as though there was a bag over her head or a blindfold over her eyes. She wasn't able to see the complete picture. Something always lingered just our of her line of vision and thought.

There was always the threat of _something _hanging over her head (something worse than the monsters she sometimes (imagined) in her wardrobe) – although she _still _hadn't managed to identify it. It was there nonetheless, however, and Vivien had been acutely aware of it every day and every night of her life since childhood.

--

You could Vivien Brideau wandering through the halls of the manor on the hill with a large metal frying pan in hand – most often at ungodly hours of the night when she suddenly had a craving for a midnight snack (she'd become somewhat thick around the middle from these habits). In the day, she refrained from carrying the frying pan and instead crept through the corridors of her manor with the stealth of an overfed cat…

…which was not very.

"_Bonjour_, _Mademoiselle_ Brideau," a maid greeted cheerfully, as it was midmorning and a beautiful day outside. Her arms were full with a basket of laundry and she had been headed downstairs as Vivien had poked her head out her chamber door.

Vivien smiled nervously at the maid. "Ah…_Bonjour_, Florette," she said, clearing the sleep from her voice. "Nice day today, is it not?"

Florette, as she was called, arched an eyebrow at the lady before her. "Beautiful, actually. You should request a visit to the stables. I'm sure Gabriel would be willing to let you see Gigi again."

At the mention of stables, Vivien chewed her lips nervously with a sort half-grimace. "Ah, actually, I believe I've had enough of the stables for a while. I wouldn't want to get on Gabriel's bad side again, he seemed quite angry with me the last time…" she trailed off, referring to an incident the week before when the white mare, Gigi, had been on the loose for a whole day. Gabriel, the handsome stable boy who came thrice a week to clean the stables, had suffered a rather nasty collision with Gigi's back hooves. Vivien's fault, of course. _L'incident du cheval._

Florette let the subject drop, knowing Vivien was still feeling rather apprehensive about horses. Of all the maids, she had worked at the Brideau - Belfast household the longest and had known Vivien since a child and could read her like a book.

"Of course, _Mademoiselle_. I suggest a walk through the back gardens, then," she smiled with a wink.

"I just might, thank you, Florette." Vivien clearly liked that idea better.

Florette cast the young woman another warm smile. "Well then, good day to you, _Mademoiselle_." She nodded goodbye before hurrying off with her basket of laundry. Vivien watched her go for a moment before slipping out of her room and closing the door quietly behind her.

The hallway remained still and silent, too silent for her ears, and Vivien hurried away from the door, heading for the kitchen.

It was a huge space in the house, with three stoves sat at one end, three sinks at the other. Two entrances were at either side of the room and settled in the centre was a large table with pots, pans and all manner of cooking equipment hanging above it. At the moment, no one occupied the large space, though there were ingredients and supplies laid out neatly and the oven was on, waiting to be used. A bag of flour, pots on the stove, jars of spices lined neatly on the counter, measuring cups, spoons – she couldn't help wonder where Édouard, the head cook, was. Vivien spent much of her time in the kitchen, watching him chop, stir and stew, although she never cooked. She was a terrible cook. She liked to watch, though, and Édouard seemed to have no problem with her company.

He had still not found the cast iron pan hidden under her bed, the one she took with her on nightly excursions, though she had a feeling he knew she had it stashed somewhere.

"Ah, Vivien! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

The sudden voice startled her and Vivien shrieked out at the top of her lungs. She whirled around, her limbs akimbo as if hoping to ward off any sudden attacks. In doing so, however, she caused mayhem. Her foot struck the barrel of fresh water along the walls, and it teetered into the barrel of apples – both crashing to the floor; her hand swiped along the counter, knocking over the large bag of flour which spilled into the spice jars and onto the oven, shattering glass and coating the elements with white powder. A pot fell, clanging loudly to the apple and water covered floor and ringing loudly for several seconds before falling still and quiet.

Silence reigned in the kitchen, and Vivien, having screwed her eyes closed in her mad flurry of movement, tentatively cracked open an eye.

Her visitor stood several meters away, water soaking slowly into his new boots.

Unable to control herself, Vivien shrieked again, and stumbled back several paces, though she tripped on an apple and went flailing back first into the wall. There, she proceeded to catch her breath with a hand clutching the fabric of her dress over her wildly beating heart. And then, upon noticing the man's dark look, she tried to cover up her obviously devastating mistake with blurted apologies.

The smell of burning flour was now very apparent in the air.

"_Monsieur_! Oh, _Dieu_,_ je suis désolé_! I-I didn't see—you _startled_ me—I-I-I! And I couldn't stop! M-my apologies, you frightened me…and I was…_startled_…" she trailed off lamely as she noticed the man's glare. She knew it all to well.

Monsieur Dorian Belfast was a tall, bulky man, twice her age and fit to be her father. But he wasn't of course. Vivien pitied the poor soul who would have Dorian as a parent. He wasn't fit for anything of the sort. As far as she was concerned, the only thing he was good for was being a horrible man and a slimy devil—which he was.

"I'm…sorry?" Vivien offered as a weak apology to the man before her, wanting nothing more than to collapse in on herself.

Belfast regarded the kitchen with a distasteful eye. Slowly, deliberately, he moved to pick up the pot that had fallen on the floor, grasped its handle with such careful purpose that Vivien was sure he would round on her, snarling, and beat her to death with it.

She could just imagine the gossip. "Did you not hear? Miss Brideau was flattened into a bloody corpse with an iron pot just before luncheon yesterday! And they say the cook was planning on doing up stewed potatoes with that very same pot! _C'est horrible!_" Vivien shuddered at the thought, but forced her thoughts to her guardian, as he stood before her with that very menacing kitchen commodity…

Belfast fixed her with a hard glare. "Just remember the money to replace the apples, water, _everything_, will be coming out of the servant's pay, Vivien."

She felt her heart sink within her chest, but nodded simply because man was intimidating enough without his anger being directed completely at her.

"Good." And with that, Belfast left, taking Édouard's precious pot with him.

Vivien watched him go for a moment, biting her lip angrily at her own meekness. But what was she to do? She was just poor little Vivien, frightened and all alone in the world. Who would mourn her death once Belfast did away with her? Certainly not the people of Saint-Denis. _Bâtard stupide_, she directed at his back as he disappeared around a corner. It did nothing, and she was left alone in her mess.

Sighing heavily, Vivien regarded her wet shoes. The hem of her dress was soaking up water, and there was a dash of flour across her front. Carefully, she leant to pick up an apple. After shining it on her sleeve, she bit into it and waited for Édouard and the kitchen staff to return.

**--**

**French Translations (for those of you who are curious)**

Mademoiselle – the equivalent of 'Miss' in French.

Paranoïaque – paranoid

Méfiant – mistrustful

Femme obsessionnelle – obsessive woman

Homme sans coeur – literally 'man without heart' but more loosely is 'heartless man.'

Bonjour – (I hope you all know this!) Good morning/Good day. A typical greeting.

L'incident du cheval – the horse incident

Je suis désolé – I'm sorry

C'est horrible! – That's horrible!

Bâtard stupide – stupid bastard

My first language isn't French, but I've been studying it for about nine years. I don't expect all of it to be perfect, but I'll try to make it pretty darn close!

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	3. Of Letters and Plans

**Chapter 2**

Of Letters and Plans

**--**

Far from the cerulean waters of the Caribbean and nestled in the heart of the Indian Ocean, there was a small Island that went by the name of Bourbon.

There, situated in a small bay there was an equally small town called Saint Denis. It boasted a modest harbour that was overlooked by houses and shops and occupied by tall ships. Overlooking the town was a tall, grassy hill. A large manor sat at the very top – a harsh protrusion. The house had been lived in for many years and passed through many different families, until it finally found its way into the hands of its present owners.

The woman who resided there now rarely left the house, and lived with a man everyone knew only as her guardian. He was the one the townspeople usually saw, yet they had taken to sneering at him behind his back. He always refused to greet the other gentry of the town and instead went about his business with a permanent frown on his face. Many of the people avoided him. The same couldn't be said for the young woman who lived with him, no matter how she tried.

Sometimes on lazy days, the town's children liked to sneak onto the manor's property and cause all sorts of mischief around the house that made the servants chase after them and the maids threaten them with brooms. If they were lucky, the children would catch a glimpse of the woman as she took a stroll along the ocean Cliffside on her property, or spy her as she trotted around on her horse. They would giggle and throw rocks and shout names at her - "_vieille fille!_", "_sorcière_ _laide!_" – because bored children were won't to do such things. The woman's horse had thrown her once, and the children hadn't seen her riding her horse for some time after that.

However, once darkness began settling on the town, the children would not dare to set foot on the property. Not for five _derniers_. There were such tales of wild dogs that roamed the fields at night to guard the house, and a watch that stayed out all night with muskets to ward off unwelcome visitors. Most of all, though, was the rumour that the woman who lived in the house on the hill was a witch. At night, one room within the house always stayed lit. There were whispers that her powers only came to her at night, and that was the only time when she could cast spells and brew potions. So she would stay at her fireplace with a bubbling cauldron and chant spells into the fire.

None of these things were actually true, of course. Once or twice, there may have been a coyote wandering the grounds, but at night, the house was still and quiet because everyone lay asleep. And one room did stay lit most the night, but only until the candle causing it burned out.

-

As it went, the sun was setting and that candle had just been lit. It sat in a lantern cover, flickering mysteriously as darkness settled in. One could see it from town – the far window on the left wing, one story up. Inside, someone was awake.

Vivien Brideau sat at her armoire, a pile of papers spread out before her and a lantern lit at her side. It dripped with a sense of laziness that completely eluded Vivien Brideau. She was looking for something, sorting through the mess of papers and putting most aside with a shake of her head. Then she paused, pulling a piece of parchment from underneath several others and tilting it towards the candlelight to read the date in the corner.

_Le 26 octobre, 1708_

Ah, that was it.

She pulled the candle closer and leaned over to read the paper, flattening down its curled edges and creases.

_My darling daughter,_

It started quite simply.

_I'm afraid this might very well be my last letter to you for a long while. My crew and I are planning to sail from Cape Verde_ _in Africa_ _no later than the end of this week. From there, we will sail to Moluccas_ _in the Spice Isles. You know where that is, don't you? It's a segment of the Indonesia_ _Islands_ _in the Malay Archipelago_ _between Celebes_ _and Papua. I wish very much to sail into harbour at Bourbon_ _Island, but you must know by now that I cannot. I only wish someday to see you again, my love. I often dream of how much you have grown._

_However, I fear unrest with my crew. The _Grey Haven _has grown into an old ship in my years of sailing as a pirate, and my crew as well. Unease has been present along the sea, and I fear my old habits are beginning to anger my men. Very soon, I feel there will be a revolt. You may be too young still, and you may not be able to read this letter without Amaury's aid, but I will tell you a great secret for fear I shant live much longer._

_You are very well aware of the fortune's I send you on the dawn of each month, my dear? Of course you are. They are from my journeys as a pirate, and many a man I have stolen from to acquire them. One day when you are older, you may ask yourself why I must sail the sea away from you when I have so many riches on hand. Surely, I could settle down and stop my life of pirating? But alas, once the sea had taken me with her beauty and she won't leave me be without a fight._

_Truthfully, my daughter, I had planned many a year ago to simply sail into harbour in Saint- Denis and step off my ship forever. All the riches I had amounted over the years would be shared out among my crew and I myself would have the largest portion--an amount large enough to sustain not one of me, but a hundred men as greedy as myself for three lifetimes each. But not only has the sea taken me in with her beauty, but my ship, the _Grey Haven, _represents my freedom, and to take away my freedom would be like confining me to imprisonment for the remainder of my life. Since I cannot give up my life as it is now, and I can never settle down with such riches as I have described, I wish to pass them onto you. This letter has come with the map that you will use to find the treasure I have amounted._

_You have heard of the Caribbean, have you not? Everyone has. It is thriving with life and activity. It is also home to the true world of pirates, where I have always belonged. There are many dangers, true, but there are also a hundred other inlets and coves that have been overlooked and discarded over the many years. Some are small, no more than the size of your very house, others could fit fifty towns the size of Saint-Denis._

_There, among the sharks and palm trees is an uninhabited isle, unnamed and unfound. On that isle, perhaps when you are old enough to set out on your own, my dear, you will use the map I have drawn out for you and included in this letter to find the hidden place where my wealth and riches lie. It is a long way from you home now, half way around the world from that place, but I trust you will find it. You are a smart girl, no doubt, being one of my own. I have complete faith in you. One day you will be a beautiful, immeasurably rich woman, admired by all those in the Caribbean._

_And if all my fears are unfounded and these are just the ramblings of an old man past his prime, you will receive a letter no later than two months from now. Until then, I bid you farewell my light, my love, my heart._

_Jacques_

Vivien Brideau peered at the letter for several moments after finishing it, the words still flowing through her head. She closed her eyes, imagining some distant memory in her mind's eye, and a voice she could not remember. This letter, like most of the others, had been from her father. It was dated little more than twenty years prior, and was yellowed with age and from repeatedly being folded and unfolded. Often, when she had nothing to better to do with her time, she would sit in her room and dig out the many letters her father had sent her over the years.

It spoke of things she didn't truly understand, things that her father often told her about in his many letters. Her father spoke of treasure – of greed and power and the fierceness of the sea. He spoke of his ship, of his crew – so much so that she felt that if she had been introduced to any of them she would know them as if she had her whole life. In many letters, he told her how he had wished to simply sail home and forget his life of lawlessness. Those letters had obviously been written on bad days, because she couldn't recall him ever doing that: Giving up. Though, she had hardly known him at all. And although he told her in every letter how he loved her so, she wondered if that was so and why he was not with her at that very second.

She also wondered about the treasure he had spoken of so many times before. Often he would write vague hints of a huge fortune he held in the Caribbean, but the letter she held before her had been the only one ever truly revealing something. And the map he had sent along with it…well she didn't know how to read maps and wasn't foolish enough to ask someone to do it for her. So, she would scan over its surface just as often as the letters, burning every line and word into her memory and wondering where her father's treasure sat in waiting. Secretly, she had a desire to find it; just for the sake of having something to do with the man she had called her father.

But when her first guardian, Amaury, had died of illness when she was still a child and Dorian Belfast came to her house, sent by her father to be her new keeper, she had been forced to crush her foolish dreams. She had never shown him the map, and never would. She would never speak of it, and she would not be free of Belfast until she was married. There was little chance of that now. She was trapped.

Belfast was as mean as Aumary had been sweet. Though she remembered little of the elderly Aumary, she recalled that he had been like a grandfather to her, the closest thing to a father she had ever had. Belfast was neither. He was a tall man, and towered over her smaller form. He had a voice that thundered and a temper that was as fickle as the weather. She disliked the way he looked at her sometimes, and hated that he needed to know her every movement. Under his orders as head of the house, she was not allowed into town without his escort, and wasn't allowed visitors under any circumstances. So Vivien had stopped trying, and that was when she supposed the town had suddenly turned a wary eye to her and began whispering whenever she was in town, which wasn't very often.

There were plenty many things to do around the manor, anyway. What need did she have for outings?

Yet, Vivien considered herself somewhat of a coward, coward for being a woman her age and not being able to look Dorian Belfast straight in the eye. She always had the feeling that Belfast's intentions towards her somehow involved her father. He had questioned her once, asking if she knew about the treasure that her father had amounted during his years of piracy. He sounded merely curious, but Vivien knew better. She hadn't lied to him – she hadn't been able – but hadn't said a word about the letters. He didn't know about the letters. He didn't know about the map, now hidden in the deepest part of the lowest drawer in her bedside table.

The letter held in her hands had come a month before Amaury's death, a month before Belfast's arrival. At the time, she had been too young to make much of it. Amaury had read it, though, and had told her to hide it; she was never to speak of it unless it was someone she trusted. And Belfast that was not.

He had trusted her less than she him, young as she might have been. His had been pleasant at first, but that had changed quickly…and she found herself as she was now.

And while she was confined to the _maison_, rumours and suspicion spread about the port town of Saint-Denis far below the property. "_Mademoiselle Brideau est_ _une sorcière! _She has been locked up to keep us safe!"

After all, what else could one say about a girl who never left the confines of her house to see the people of the town below? Never married? Never attended social events?

The people of Bourbon Island had always been overly superstitious.

A sudden, hesitant knock on her door made Vivien jump from her musings, and she just barely contained a yelp. Panicking, she fumbled with the letter, trying to fold it, and attempted to stuff the rest of them back into their drawer without making too much noise. This was an impossible task, and again the person outside her door knocked, a bit louder this time. Hurriedly closing the drawer and clearing her throat, Vivien went to the door and pulled the deadbolt open with a _clank_.

She opened the door less than a foot. "Yes?"

And elderly maid stood at the door. "Dinner will be at seven, _Mademoiselle,_" she announced with a smile, and then hesitated a moment before continuing. "And _Monsieur _Belfast wishes you to wear your blue gown. Shall I send a maid up?"

Vivien nodded. "Yes…yes of course." She hated her blue gown because it was Belfast's favourite colour on her.

The woman smiled again. "Very well, then, _Mademoiselle_. I will leave until dinner."

With a sigh, Vivien closed the door behind the maid. Her eyes strayed to the clock ticking away by the armoire. Its hands read five, and she sighed with relief. There was still another good hour until she had to sit down to dinner with Dorian.

Letting her shoulders sag, the young woman made her way over to her bed and sat down on the edge, smoothing her skirts down. Across from her sat the window, large with its shutters thrown back to allow light to flow in from the view. It faced the harbour down below, where the sun settled each night in preparation for night. Right now, there was the barest hint of pink fading on the horizon, and her little candle hardly seemed like enough to keep the darkness away.

Slowly, her eyes strayed to the harmless little letter sitting by her bedside, and she let her thoughts take her back to the time when she had first received it. Her father had promised another one within two months if his fears were unfounded.

Not surprisingly, the letter had never come.

**--**

"Aye, so let me get this straight, Cap'n." Gibbs's voice started with a sort of exasperated sigh.

Jack, who was leaning on the helm aboard his _Pearl,_ nodded to him. "Please, feel free to do so," he responded calmly, his low slur present.

He ignored his captain's remark and cast a quick glance at the port town of Saint-Denis from where the _Pearl_ was hidden by the coastline. "You plan on setting the boats down, rowing into port, leading the whole crew through the streets of town, hopin' no one notices, steal up to the house on the hill and then knock on the door and _ask_ for this map?"

Rolling his eyes slightly, Jack looked on as if bored. "No, I only plan taking _six_ of the crew, lowering the boats down, rowing into port in the dead of night and proceeding my way up the hill before knocking pleasantly on the door and asking nicely for a map to this treasure. And we'll see where it goes from there," he explained as if it were the most obvious solution.

Taking a deep breath, Gibbs sighed. "Cap'n, that still leaves you with the problem of running about the town in the dead of night with a bunch of pirates—no doubt the locals won't take that to liking—and getting' this map from this old hag. And she's supposed to be a witch, I've heard," he said, before solemnly crossing himself.

Arching an eyebrow, Jack peered up the town, his eyes following a road winding upwards until they landed on a large manor sitting atop a grassy hill by the cliffs. Then, he turned to Gibbs, his usual hand gestures and jingling beads present. "I said I was taking six of my men, and we ain't going to 'run about the town', as it were. We're going to be quick and quiet. Savvy?"

Contemplating the eccentric man's words, Gibbs, too, turned to peer up at the large white house on the hill. He had to squint, as the daylight was slowly fading in time with the sinking sun.

Jack stared expectantly at his first mate as he observed the house. "What do you think then?"

Turning to his captain, Gibbs looked doubtful. "And how are you going to find where this treasure is from _her_, Jack, even if she does have a map?" he asked plainly. "No doubt she won't be willing to help you."

Immediately, a lazy grin spread over the pirate captain's face. "That, mate, is where my natural piratical abilities come in," he responded simply.

Gibbs stared at his captain with a half-grimace. _Somehow, I knew it'd come to that…_

**--**

**French Translations:**

_Derniers – _unit of French money. 1 dernier coin was about the equal of 1 English penny.

Maison- house

Vieille fille- old maid

Sorcière laide – ugly witch

Mademoiselle Brideau est une sorcèire! – Miss Brideau is a witch!

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	4. The Old Hag and Her House on the Hill

The Trouble with Women

**Chapter 3**

The Old Hag and her House on the Hill

--

Dinner had been a quiet affair, as always. There was a large table in the dining room, big enough for twenty people, yet it only sat two. Belfast and Vivien. The food had been served by the serving maids and Édouard himself, who had been studiously ignoring Vivien for most of the say. Combined with Belfast's piercing stare, Vivien could hardly wait to leave.

After she had excused herself, she had made her way quickly up the stairs of the main foyer and locked herself up in her room for the night. Her door had several locks, each taking a weight off Vivien's mind for the night. Her bedroom was perhaps the only place she even felt remotely safe from prying eyes and cruel intentions. Not even Belfast himself could pick the lock on her door without running into several other complicated contraptions barring his way in.

Now, Vivien rushed about her room relighting candles that had burned out due to her open window—she had always liked her window open to feel the cool ocean air coming inland for the night. It was strange that she would have so many locks on her door but then simply throw her security away and open up her window each night, welcoming thieves and marauders into her room.

Well, that thought was rather foolish because in order to do so they would have to scale a sheer vertical wall.

Upon replacing a candle that had managed to burn down to the end of its wick, she sighed in slight contentment, and blew out the match in her fingers before it managed to burn her. She'd done that many times – never quite quick enough to put out the flame.

She was about to retire to her bed, having shed her day garments for the free movements of her nightwear, and settle down with her lantern and new novel when she noticed a rather odd noise coming from outside her window.

Vivien hesitated for a moment before slowly setting down her book on her nightstand. She turned then, green eyes fixed on the window to the right of her large bed. Outside, the sky was dark and littered with brightly twinkling stars. A light sea breeze wafted into her room, picking up her gauzy curtains and billowing them playfully.

And she heard the odd yet familiar sound of boots on the gravel road.

Slowly—her morbid curiosity getting the best of her good judgement, which was by now screaming and ranting in the panicked state that it often went into when frightened—she approached the window on quiet feet.

As the view of the dark harbour and sea was revealed, Vivien's eyes slowly trailed downward, gaze running up the winding road leading to her manor and into the front parking way as her hands carefully closed around the windowsill. Then, she leaned forward ever so slightly and peered directly down at the front doorway, which was almost directly below her window, if not a bit to the left.

Shadows moved in the darkness below.

Vivien muffled an upcoming scream with her hand, and stumbled frantically away from the window just as an angered "bloody 'ell!" broke the silence below. It was followed by the sound of a man cursing angrily. Immediately, her mind began racing over her options.

It was either get out of her room and warn the household—risking being seen and therefore possibly dying a horribly and gruesome death, or stay safe in her tightly locked room and let the household sleep on in peace—until they found themselves awakened by the feeling of dagger between their ribs.

Now, Vivien might have been a complete nervous wreck and quite liable to get herself killed, which didn't lie lightly on her shoulders, but a complete coward and selfish betrayer, she was not! Well, at least not all the time…

**--**

Jack had decided everything had gone according to plan. So far. Currently, he was creeping up outside the Brideau manor with a group of men from his crew – the largest, dirtiest and most intimidating he could find. The rest, including Gibbs and Anamaria, had been left to keep watch over the _Pearl._ It was pitch black outside, the moon having drifted up over the horizon an hour or so before, and was now swathed in the thick clouds on the starry horizon.

It couldn't have been a minute past seven.

Jack, in the lead with an unlit torch in hand, turned and motioned to the fifteen of so men behind him, a wicked grin playing across his face. Rowing from the _Pearl_ and docking in Saint-Denis had been easy, as had been sneaking through the streets. The only occupants had been French drunkards swaying along the winding cobblestone paths and even a few whores trying to lure in customers. They had gone unnoticed, all the way up the winding road to the house on the hill.

Only now where they coming to the hard part.

Behind him, someone tripped loudly in the inky darkness and swore, "Bloody 'ell! Ye cobswobble piece o' shit rock! Have ye no bloody respect?!"

Jack turned with an exaggerated sway, scowling. His eyes fell upon the culprit, a beefy man he had picked up in Virginia a ways back – John. He glared. "If you can be any louder, _please_ feel free to run around the yard screaming!" he hissed. "I have no objections!"

John managed to look ashamed while the rest of the men snickered quietly. "Righ' Cap'n. Sorry."

Jack nodded shortly and continued towards quietly towards the door, his boots making the mutest of sounds upon the gravel. However, the effect was somewhat useless considering the idiots behind him were shuffling and tripping about like newborn babes. He tried to control his rising temper and took a deep breath before ascending the few steps to the large doors. His crew followed loudly.

Everything was silent save for the chirping of crickets in the warm spring night, and the crew of the _Black Pearl_ watched their captain expectantly as he examined the door. They stayed like this a moment, in complete silence, waiting.

Then, Jack turned back to his men, sash flying, coat swirling, beads jingling and grinned.

"_Now_, gents, we knock politely on the door 'ere and ask for the dear presence of our Miss Brideau," he announced in a hushed sort of tone. "And don't forget to thank her kindly, because this old hag will make you some _very_ rich men." With his right hand, he took hold of the knocker and slammed it thrice on the hard wooden door.

**--**

After fiddling and scrambling about with her numerous locks, Vivien finally managed to escape the confines of her room, and she flung open her door with as much force as she could muster. It swung in a wide arc behind her before crashing into the wall with a reverberating _bang_.

Then, gathering her meagre courage, she stepped out into the hallway. Lanterns were softly lighting the corridor, and a maid was just making her way silently down the hall when Vivien stepped forth from her room, fully clad in nothing but her nightclothes.

The maid was more than shocked by the loud crash that had come from the door as it hit the wall, but Miss Brideau herself dressed in her nightclothes in the middle of the hall at seven in the evening! The indecency! Belfast would have her head! But the maid didn't even have time to open her mouth before Vivien flew at her with wide eyes and trembling hands.

"_Madame Gerard! _You must run now as quickly as you can! Warn the cook! Warn the servants! Warn the house! Wake up Belfast!" she shouted frantically in the older woman's face, her own a look a frantic worry.

Madame Gerard stared at Vivien in shock. Truly, she had seen the young woman in frenzies, panics, but nothing like this! _She's rambling, pauvres chere, _she thought sadly, and furrowed her brow in gentle confusion. "Whatever are you speaking of, _Mademoiselle?_"

Vivien fought the urge to break down and cry. Of course, the woman didn't know what she was talking about!

"Bandits! Sneaking outside the house! They are there right now! I swear to you I heard them!" Vivien cried out clutching the maid's shoulders tightly, desperate for the woman to believe her. What if she was too late? What if they were already inside the house?

At that thought, Vivien shrieked, letting go of the older woman and spinning around, her ears keen for any strange noises. She heard none, but that didn't comfort her. Instead, she whirled back around, froze for a moment, and then sped off much like a wild animal, her bare feet pounding loudly on the floor.

Madame Gerard watched her go. "_Mademoiselle?_" she asked weakly, but her mistress was already rounding the corner towards the stairs.

The Brideau manor was a large house, but it was simple to navigate. There were two halls, one for each floor and each connecting to a myriad of rooms. Vivien's bedroom was on the second floor, not far from the winding staircase leading up from the large, open front foyer. Such was the reason she reached this particular section of the house within seconds of leaving the maid. Just in time to hear the loud knocking upon the front door.

She reached the railing overlooking the foyer just as a servant made his way to the door, posture stiff and straight. She would have yelled out for the man to stop, as no person in their right mind would open the front door to strangers at seven in the evening, but her voice was suddenly stuck somewhere in her throat.

She watched in mute terror as the door was opened, revealing a band of raggedly dressed men outside, their faces illuminated by torches. The servant seemed shocked, but wasn't able to say anything before he was cut off.

"Kind sir, good evening. My sincere apologies for the intrusion so late at night. However, if you'd be so kind as to direct me and my men to your employer we will gladly leave your midst as soon as possible," one man said in English, speaking for his group.

Vivien felt a solid weight drop in her stomach. Unlike herself, Pierre, the butler who had opened the door, could not speak English.

The man at the doorway seemed to figure that out a moment later as Pierre began to speak rapidly in French, all the while attempting to shut the door in his face. In one swift movement, he had drawn a pistol from his belt and whacked Pierre upside the head. He collapsed in a heap at the man's feet, unmoving.

And Vivien screamed, simply because she couldn't hold the ultimate terror of the moment within her any longer.

It was a mistake, and the men below were staring up at her within a second, matching grins of pure sadistic humour upon their dirty faces. At a gesture from their leader, the one who had knocked Pierre with the butt of his gun, several dirty men filed into the house. They were all large and equally intimidating, and by the time Vivien realized three were coming towards her, they were halfway up the stairs and drawing their swords.

She managed to find her senses at the terrified scream of a maid down below, and she turned from the railing and sped back down the hallway, legs moving as fast as they could carry her. Which wasn't very fast, evidently, as a shot whizzed by her head before she reached the corner leading back to the safety of her room.

Shouts rang out behind her, and the message she got from the men was somewhat like the exclamation "stop before I shoot your bloody head off!"

So she did, and she cursed the maids and servants because they had managed to make themselves so scarce at a time like this! God, what was she going to do!

A man spoke behind her, in English, his voice low and slurred, "That's righ', love. Now just turn around and face ole Jack here. And don't try anything stupid, savvy?"

And she did, fighting the sudden urge to simply vomit and pass out.

Vivien more or less gaped in frightened shock at the man before her, frozen to the spot, for her feet didn't seem to want to cooperate with her mind, which was screaming at her to abandon common sense and _run!_

The first thing she noticed, perhaps, was the fierce look about him…and his rather long, sharp, all too pointy sword pointed right at her. Not only that, but he held a pistol too, and it seemed to be aimed more or less in the general direction of her head.

His dark eyes were narrowed, his skin tanned, and he sported a moustache and odd-looking beard. Wound around his head of wild hair, which was tangled, plaited, beaded, and riddled with various items and dreadlocks, was a red scarf of sorts, atop of which sat a beaten tri-cornered hat. Truthfully, she wasn't really concerned about his hat. It was his state of dress and his overall appearance that terrified her the most.

He looked like a pirate. And indeed, only a pirate would show such an inappropriate amount of chest. The fact that the men behind him seemed equally as worn and rough could have attributed to that realization, also, but she found within a moment that didn't really matter. What did were the pistol, the man, and the large sharp sword.

He leered at her, revealing several golden teeth in his smirk, and when he spoke, it was in a low, slurred tone.

"Milady, would you be so kind as to direct me towards your mistress, _Mademoiselle_ _Brideau_, is it not?" he said, and the men behind him continued to look quite threatening.

Vivien didn't reply. She was far too frightened out of her wits to respond to even the simplest question. And what was she to say, anyhow? That she was Mademoiselle Brideau, and please feel free to harm me in any way you can before you leave, _Monsieurs_. And what did they want her for? And where was Florette when you needed her? Vivien thought to herself in a panicked sort of way, her feet still not obeying her wishes to run like the dickens.

"Can you not speak?" prompted the man, now frowning, pistol still aimed and sword at the ready.

Really, like she was going to jump at him in a flurry of nails and teeth, determined to gouge his eyes out! She could hardly breathe, let alone find the magnanimous effort and bravery needed to do something like that!

So, Vivien stayed rooted to the spot, even as the sound of the marauding and sacking in her home continued on downstairs.

The pirate turned a sideways glance at his fellows. "I think she's frozen up, mates," he grinned. They chuckled, their voices making Vivien ill.

One of his men stepped forward, a particularly hairy and large fellow. There was a cruel sneer on his dirty features. "Then I say we help thaw 'er out, aye!" he shouted, his words joined by accompanying "aye's" from his mates.

He was silenced with a studious glare from the pirate with the pistol. There was a frown on his face. "There'll be none of that whil—" he started, but was drowned out by the sound of a woman's voice from down the hall.

"_Mademoiselle Brideau!_ _Vous devez éviter ces hommes! Courez, Mademoiselle!" _Florette shrieked, her words followed by the pounding of feet on the floor.

Vivien watched as the pirates exchanged a surprised look between them as Florette latched onto her arm, trying to pull her away. Still, though, her feet refused to move, and she merely stumbled slightly to the side. Her eyes were wide with fear as a new realization came upon her. Now the men knew her last name. They knew _who_ _she_ _was_.

Florette was pulling frantically at her. "_Mademoiselle Brideau, courez rapidement!"_ she hissed hysterically, and tugged Vivien so hard she nearly fell backwards. She supposed they looked rather ridiculous, a lady frozen stiff and her maid trying to haul her out of danger.

Someone cleared their throat loudly, and both women froze to turn and stare at the pirates. The one with the gun looked rather pleased, and he addressed them both with much flourish, sword waving wildly as his pistol stayed locked on them.

"My ladies, if you'd be so kind as to stop panicking. You aren't going anywhere as I have a rather important matter to discuss with Mademoiselle Brideau here," he almost crowed with delight, a delighted smirk showing golden teeth.

Florette pulled Vivien up and steadied her slightly, a frown on her face. That was when Vivien realized the woman had never learned English, and no doubt had no idea what the pirate was saying. So, ignoring the man, she took her mistresses arm and began to pull her away from the pirates, shouting, "_Laissez! Laissez!_" at the men. Vivien, of course, was much too terrified to move, much less walk.

And the final straw came when the pirate frowned and cocked his weapon resolutely. "Nay. Stay where you are, lass," he deadpanned. The men behind him inched forward, ready to spring to at a moment's notice. Vivien literally trembled. Florette swore in French. The pirates advanced.

Quite abruptly, with the threat of death hanging over her, Vivien found she couldn't take it. She just wasn't built for such stress.

So she fainted

**--**

**French Translations:**

Pauvres cher – poor dear

Vous devez éviter ces hommes! – loosely translated as: 'you must get away from those men!'

Courez! – run!

Courez rapidement! – run quickly!

Laissez – Leave!

**Feel free to review! ;)**

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	5. Fight, Flight or Faint

The Trouble with Women

**Chapter 4**

Fight, Flight or Faint

**--**

Everything was moving. Swaying and rocking slowly like a child's cradle underneath a mother's steady foot. Slow and steady, unyielding and lulling. The world seemed to arc upwards and fall gently back down, sometimes sharply, sometimes gently. Time was captured in this repetitive motion.

It was the constant movement that first brought Vivien back to the world of the living. An awareness hidden in the depths of her mind had been awoken by the up and down roll surrounding her. While the rest of her brain slept, some part of her was conscious to the swaying of everything. The world was rolling, moving, rocking in some strange eternal rhythm.

At any other time, she would have found it maddening. At this moment, however, it made a tiny, small piece of her mind very conscious to the fact that it was terribly nauseating.

It was that general feeling of uncomfortable illness which pulled the rest of Vivien's mind from the deep, dark depths of pleasant unconsciousness.

First, she breathed a deep sigh, the sigh that half-awake people tend to do when waking - and it was her own sight that woke her more. She was instantly aware of the fact that she wasn't merely on a floor. She was lying down on something deceptively soft…almost fluffy and very comforting. There, in that space between being awake and asleep, Vivien felt an odd sort of warmth on her face, on her nose and cheeks. It caressed her face lightly in a way that should have soothing.

Instead, the warmth coupled with her nausea to make her nightgown steadily more uncomfortable. Vivien became aware that her skin had broken out in a light sweat and her nightclothes were clinging more uncomfortably to her. Warmth was the last thing she wanted; it only heightened the steadily peaking sickness fluttering around her head and insides. She wanted to groan aloud, make her discomfort known.

And that aggravating rolling! That infuriatingly gentle swaying that brought the soft surface she lay upon to a slant and before rolling to opposite way. Constant, maddening. There was a creaking now, too, as her ears seemed to open. With every tilt of the world there was a slow and low creak that tittered off before starting again.

It was aggravating - too much to take. Sleep couldn't be held onto any longer now that her mind had begun to think.

_La chaleur._ The warmth…

That gentle sway.

The feeling of soft fabric against her fingers.

The collar of her nightgown choking her, the skin underneath hot and sweaty…

…the unmistakable and undeniable smell of rum and salt air wafting up her nose…

_Rhum? Air salé?_

In but a moment, Vivien's eyes had snapped open and she shot up without a second thought, heart pounding madly. She swooned slightly as a heavy wave of vertigo swam through the confines of her head, but managed to stay upright long enough to survey her surroundings.

Of course, she was a in a room. On a bed. A large, elegant bed with fine fabrics and gauzy curtains tied up at each post. She could see the entire room. It was empty of any other person, but held definite signs of life. From the large desk in the far corner, its surface as well as the floor around it strewn with parchments and quill pens, to the small stuffed to the edges with books of every size and shape and the several chests set up in the corner, one ajar slightly, the others locked tight.

And Vivien had no doubts, by the amount of empty bottles strewn across the floor, that this room belonged to someone other than herself.

That sudden realization only brought a feeling of edginess onto the young woman, and her green eyes darted about the room quickly, settling on the windows allowing the warm sunlight to fall through into the cabin. She could feel her heart beating madly in the small confines of her chest, that familiar feeling that came just before a fight or flight – or faint – situation.

But there was no one save herself and the dust motes dancing lightly on the sun's rays occupying the space of the room. This realization relaxed Vivien enough for her to swing her legs from the side of the bed and contemplate her reasons for being in here. In her nightclothes…when it was clearly day outside.

And why was the room moving?

As far as Vivien knew, no normal rooms on any solid ground did any dramatic swaying like the sensation she was experiencing.

And then there was that strong smell of salt air and seaweed – the kind one only experienced if they sauntered down to the docks in the harbour and took a great time sniffing the air.

It hit Vivien like a ton of bricks. Or more like an elephant, really. She was quite sure an elephant hurt much more than a ton of bricks, which is why she could imagine one suddenly sitting on her to the feeling that hit her in the gut. Which brought her back to her sudden and stunning realization…

She was on a ship! She had been ruthlessly kidnapped, taken from the safe confines of her house and forced upon a ship – all without her knowing!

Quite suddenly, Vivien felt her nausea build.

Pirates, that's who they were! She knew, although her father had been one himself, that didn't mean they were _all_ good. She had heard stories of their murdering, plundering ways. And they had no pity on women! They raped and ravaged them, passing them around like some sort of exotic dish before tossing them over the side to the sharks!

Vivien had the sudden uncontrollable urge to vomit her guts out, but as that would be quite unpleasant, she tried to ignore it. Thus, her paranoia kicked in and a ghastly shiver ran up her spine. Dieu! What was she going to do? Why was she here? What was going to happen to her?

Her eyes once again scanned the room, watching for men with dirty rags as clothes and large cutlasses to come springing out of the floors or jump out from behind the chests in the corner of the room. And once again, the only sound besides the groaning of the ship's wooden boards was her heart, thumping madly underneath her ribs, pumping blood tenfold around her body.

_My frying pan would be nice,_ Vivien thought frantically to herself. She became panicky. She pushed off the bed quickly, suddenly feeling very dirty while sitting upon the sheets on which a pirate had no doubt slept. She needed something – a weapon. Her wide eyes scanned the room quickly.

A quill? _Too sharp, risking too much blood,_ Vivien shuddered at the thought.

An empty bottle? _Too much stray glass…_

… A book?

Good enough.

So, padding lightly over to the two shelves, she quickly selected a book. It was old, it's over so worn she couldn't even read the title, and it was heavy. She decided it would do nicely in a fight, flight or faint situation. Now all she had to do was wait, although she had no clue as to what she was actually waiting for…

The sudden sound of muffled conversation seeped into the room, and Vivien's eyes locked on the solid wooden door on the far side of the room. Her feet froze in place as she listened to the murmurs. They were steadily growing louder, steadily closer.

_Je suis fichu! Mort!_ she thought to herself in terror. _They're going to come in here and kill me! I'm going to die an unmarried hag, alone, afraid! Deranged!_ her mind was chanting to her in a crazed frenzy, not even allowing simple logic to penetrate her brain. Such as, what was the point of kidnapping her only to kill her when she awoke? These pirates must be sick men, very sick men indeed!

The talking grew louder until she could hear small snippets of conversation. It was in English. She quickly thanked Amaury for teaching her English all those years ago and tightened her grip on the book, holding onto it like a lifeline.

"Are…sure…deal…her alone Cap'n?"

"…You implying…_Captain_ Jack Sparrow…cope with a woman, Gibbs?"

"Nay, sir. I just be wary…aye. Rumours…to be taken lightly."

"Ah…but rumours are also not to be taken seriously, ay? Don't…your frightened of the girl!"

The conversation halted abruptly, and Vivien stood stiff like a doe caught in sight of a hunter. The silence went on for a moment before she caught the sound of hoarse whispers just barely audible to her ears.

"…Heard the stories…. aren't something… meddle…" one man stated in a low voice.

"Who said she was a witch? Have you been…Carter…the bloke's nearly as bad…Joshamee!"

"Witches…terrible bad luck…they are!"

"Witches are terrible bad—" the other man imitated in a mocking voice. "…Get a bloody…of yourself, man! I…the lass is…awake yet! …Took…tumble there…"

"…Don't make her less dangerous…"

"Ye know very well I don't…in witches, Mister Gibbs…Nothing…stories…mother's wantin' their children in bed!"

"An' ye…you didn't believe…the un-dead, either, Jack?"

"_Captain_ Jack…and curses and witches…completely different."

"How's that?"

"Witches are burnt, curses are broken. Now…forget your bloody superstitions—just for a while…understand…simply _trust_ me, ay? Can you do that…ole Jack?"

There was a fair amount of grumbling before Vivien heard and agreement. "Aye, Cap'n."

"Splendid! Now, scurry…onto the deck…sure Anamaria's still on the right course then, savvy?"

"Aye, sir."

"Aye! Now go!"

Vivien heard the sound of boots slowly retreating, and her shoulders relaxed somewhat. But her eyes stayed glued to the door, her heart in her throat - literally. She could feel it thumping away just above her collar, fitting like a plug. She felt as though her windpipe had been clogged and could no longer breathe. She was quite sure, if presented with anything remotely shocking, she would faint dead away.

The sudden sound of a door being unlocked seemed to echo like a bell toll, and Vivien felt all coherent thought leave her body right then and there. Desperately, her eyes darted around the room for a place to hide – anywhere, somewhere!

The lock on the door clicked open, and the knob turned slowly. She could have sworn she felt her heart stop.

Jack swiftly deposited the key back into his pocket and eased open then door. He somewhat regretted giving the woman his quarters, as he had no idea what she could have done to his possessions while he had been gone. Just the thought of the bird getting into his rum supply was enough to make him cringe. Early that morning he had sent a watch down to check on the woman, and sure enough she had been out cold. _Probably from the fall,_ he thought idly, and swung the door open with its hinges creaking loudly. _Stupid woman knocked _herself_ unconscious!_

Truth be told, he had never seen anyone, man _or _woman, react so…oddly to his presence. Of course, women had been known to swoon at the mere sight of him, fainting from pleasure no doubt, but the young Miss Brideau had seemed terribly afraid of him. And Jack knew that powerful witches wouldn't be afraid of mere pirates, such was the reason he told Gibbs any rumours were just that. Rumours.

Stepping silently into the room – although he wasn't quite sure what the point was since the bloody door had already given him away – Jack's eyes settled on the bed. His bed. His _empty_ bed.

That was strange. He could have sworn the lass had been on the bed last time he saw her.

Brow furrowing slightly, Jack swiftly kicked the door shut behind him, ensuring any escape would be thwarted by the sound of rusty hinges, and squinted at the room. There was no noise save for his breathing and the gentle clinking of the beads adorning his hair as they settled. Swaying slightly, he eyed the corners of his quarters, trying to make out the hidden shape of a woman somewhere in the shadows.

But the room seemed quite empty, to him at least…

Vivien watched intently as the pirate stared down the room, obviously looking for her. At the last moment, she had slipped into the shadows by the doorway, concealing herself and the large book. She had been quite good at that back at the manor, having spent most her time being wary, waiting and watching. For what, she had never been quite sure, but now all her practice had come in handy.

The pirate gave a short snort in disbelief, and she watched with wide eyes as she turned on his heel, beaded and braided hair flying madly about him. Unfortunately, the sudden movement led his eyes to her hiding place, and as he swayed slightly with his hair adornments clinking softly, he came face to face with Vivien. A terribly frightened and impulsive Vivien. Which wasn't a very good combination, mind you. He found that out moments later, as in a rash urge of fear and shock, she raised the book before her as a weapon.

One couldn't even begin to describe the look upon the pirate's face, as there were simply too many things running along his features. Confusion, for sure, by the set of the eyebrows – surprise, maybe, for his lips were parted as though he wished to say something but suddenly forgot – and even dread, as he realized what was to come next.

Quite conveniently, Vivien didn't see any of these because she had screwed her eyes shut as she swung the large book towards the pirate's face with as much force as she could muster. She felt the impact – it jarred her. The force and weight of the book's momentum sent her staggering to the side. And there was silence. She stayed frozen, hardly daring to right herself and open her eyes lest she somehow find a sword at her throat.

But then, moments later, there was a loud thump on the floor. Then silence.

The room tilted gently and the timbers of the ship creaking, groaning now with a sort of indignation.

Gingerly, Vivien cracked an eye open, and then the other. Her gaze slowly travelled downwards where the pirate lay several feet away, face first down on the hardwood floor. Evidently, the blow had sent him in a full circle, knocked him unconscious _and_ sent him to the ground.

She might have congratulated herself if she hadn't been so bloody frightened.

**--**

**French Translations for the French illiterate:**

La chaleur – the warmth

Rhum – rum

Air sale – salt air, salty air…take your pick

Je suis fichu! – 'I'm a goner,' 'I'm dead,' that sort of thing.

Mort – dead

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	6. You Don't Know?

The Trouble with Women

**Chapter 5**

You Don't Know?

**--**

Vivien stared at the motionless body of the pirate before the book in her hands dropped to the floor with a loud thud.

_Oh Dieu…_

Her fingers felt suddenly numb, yet her whole body tingled and hummed. She tried to control her breathing, calming her pulse. Then, licking her lips nervously, she came to the conclusion that knocking the man out probably hadn't been her brightest idea. Nothing that she did, it seemed, was in any way very clever.

Now she was faced with a rather large landslide blocking her path. It was a mountainous thing that stood tall and imposing, demanding of her one question: What, exactly, was she going to do next?

Not only was she on a ship, but this ship was most likely sailing somewhere far off from her home. And not only was she on a ship sailing somewhere far off from her home, there were pirates on this ship. And, by the way the pirate sprawled out in the middle of the floor had been addressed earlier by a member of his crew, Vivien had reason to believe she had just knocked the _captain_ of the pirate ship she was currently situated, unconscious.

Vivien knew that couldn't be a good thing.

Undecidedly, the young Frenchwoman took a step towards the man, almost expecting him to flip over and shout some obscenity such as "Arr!" or "I'll blow ye down ye scabrous dog!" When he didn't, she took another few steps towards him, wary and aware she was dressed in her nightclothes and quite unarmed.

Again, the pirate made no movements. But Vivien wouldn't be fooled; he could very well be waiting for the right moment to strike. Sharp cutlass straight through her frail neck. She cringed at the mental picture that drew up in her mind, but didn't stray away from the pirate. Instead, she carefully kneeled down and reached forward to take hold of his far arm.

Her fingers gripped half-heartedly at the worn material of his overcoat, but somehow she managed to rouse her courage and take a firm grip. Swiftly, she tugged him onto his back. He flopped over ungracefully, head lolling to the side, still comatose.

There was no blood from the blow, thank her lucky stars. She hadn't broken his nose or anything unpleasant like that. In fact, there was nothing besides layers of dirt and grime marring his features. She studied him closely, examining him like she would a curious bug crawling on the ground.

His eyes were lined with kohl (oddly enough); he had a perfectly straight nose, and almost startlingly regal features. She remembered how his dark eyes had grinned at her along with those lips; his iris's nearly matching the black of his pupils. _Oui, _she remembered this one. He had been at her manor. He had been the one with the sword, leading the pirates. Now there was no doubt in her mind she had just struck the captain of the ship unconscious with one of his own books.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped that if she could wake the pirate up and apologize profusely while grovelling at his feet before he could get a single word in, she _might_ persuade him not to kill her right away.

Shuddering inwardly, Vivien was quite sure she preferred the man unconscious to awake. He was downright threatening.

Swallowing thickly, Vivien's fingers fluttered over the pirate, her mind in indecision. How do you wake and unconscious man?

Hesitantly, she decided to lightly tap his cheek in hopes of rousing him.

Needless to say, her almost non-existent touch didn't help. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and tried again, slapping the pirate softly on the face.

No response.

Pursing her lips, Vivien raised her hand and flicked him on the forehead.

Again, no response. Vivien's heart thudded. Had she _killed _him?

"_Monsieur…?_" she spoke in a hushed tone, waiting for a response.

There was none.

"_Monsieur…Capitaine?_" she asked hesitantly, brow furrowing.

He didn't twitch.

Vivien sat back on her haunches, eyes darting around the room worriedly. What would happen if someone came down to check on their captain and found him lying limp upon the floor with her looming over him like some sort of criminal? _Pas quelque chose bon…_she told herself firmly, worriedly.

Biting down on her lower lip, she leaned over the pirate once more. Then, bringing her hands together in one fluid motion, she clapped loudly right above his face. It could have been her imagination, but she could have sworn she saw his eyebrow twitch slightly. She stared down at the comatose man with renewed courage.

"Wake up_, Capitaine!" _she commanded loudly, clapping again, loudly near his ear.

She was dismayed when it seemed as though she had done nothing.

Vivien pursed her lips in annoyance, eyebrows arching downward angrily. "_Réveillez, vous grande et laide brute!" _she shouted, and reached down to flick him hard on the forehead. Her hand, however, didn't make it that far, as her wrist was suddenly encased in an iron grip.

Shocked, Vivien stared down into a twin pair of deep brown eyes.

"Now, that wasn't very nice," the pirate's voice drawled lazily, his hand still firm around her wrist.

Stupefied, the young woman merely stared for a moment before her lips twitched and she let out a horrible shriek of surprise, tumbling backwards onto her behind. Immediately, her wrist was released, and she shuffled backwards away from the pirate, eyes wide with fear as she shrieked her lungs out.

The pirate winced in pain, one hand coming up to cradle his forehead while he boosted himself up from the floor with his other. Swaying slightly, he turned to the hysterical woman and attempted to calm her somewhat. "No, no. Not good, shhhhh! _Please_, be quiet!" he waved his free hand urgently at her, his head pounding angrily.

His words seemed to calm her somewhat, and as her last scream ended due to lack of air in her lungs, she stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. But as he began to lift himself from the floor, she shuffled back slightly, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

He looked as though he was going to say something, but the next second the door to the room burst open, revealing a portly old man in ragged clothes and fierce looking woman. Both had their swords drawn and both were roaring like madmen.

Again, Vivien shrieked, this time at the sight of the long, slightly curved and very, _very_ sharp looking weapons which were now pointed at her.

Sighing in admission, Jack took a deep breath and shouted, "SHUT UP!"

Vivien's scream died off with a squeak and the two pirates started slightly before turning to their captain.

"That'll about do it…" the portly man murmured lowly.

However, the woman pirate, looking fierce, advanced towards Vivien, who made a sort of choking sound at the movement. "We 'eard screaming and yelling, Captain. Has she been giving ya any trouble?" she demanded, pointing her sword at the huddled woman on the floor. "I have no problems getting rid of the witch right now, curse the bloody map and yer treasure!"

Vivien's eyes widened, her eyebrows curving downward into a frown. "A witch!" she exclaimed loudly, causing the woman pirate to snarl at her angrily and raise her weapon. That set off another bout of terrified yells from the defenceless Frenchwoman, which only served to give Jack a bigger headache and confuse Gibbs, who stood at the doorway with an odd sort of look upon his face.

Swaying slightly on his feet with a hand to his head, Jack scowled at the scene before him. "Gibbs, Anamaria…Miss Brideau! _Please_, stop with all the bloody _shouting_!" he yelled angrily, and the room fell into complete silence.

All eyes turned to Jack.

He smiled pleasantly, pressing his palms together and nodding his head slightly. "My most gracious thanks…now, everyone calm down or shut up. I'd hoped to make this as short a possible," he started, and turned to Vivien with a flourish of his sash. "Darling, get up from the floor, s'terribly dirty…and Anamaria, sheath your weapon, woman! Gibbs, put away that pistol!" His eyes strayed back to Vivien when he noticed she hadn't moved an inch. "Well, what did I say? Get up!"

Stifling a squeak, Vivien quickly shot up from the floor, but kept her distance from the other three occupants of the room.

"Gibbs, who's captaining my ship?" Jack asked suddenly.

The elderly man straightened slightly under his captain's eye. "Cotton, sir," he answered simply.

"_Mr. Cotton!_ You let Mr. Cotton at the…ah bloody hell, never mind. As long as the bird doesn't…_you_ _know_, all over the helm…" he muttered, more to himself than anyone.

"Cap'n, if ye don't mind me asking, what are we to do with the witch?" Anamaria piped up.

Jack's kohl rimmed eyes narrowed until they were nothing more than dark slits. He turned to glare at the woman in the corner, who looked very much at unease by her stiff posture. "That's right…now as much as I'd like to simply toss you in the brig for a few days after you decked over the head with yonder book," he began, gesturing vaguely at the discarded book by the door, his fingers twitching oddly. "I would much rather get straight to the point, take down the coordinates of your father's treasure, and _then_ toss you into the brig until we reach our near destination." He gave her a brief smile, flashing several gold teeth, before cocking his head to the side. "What say you, then? I might simply lock you in a spare cabin for a few days if you cooperate nice like."

Vivien blinked, opening her mouth slightly, but couldn't find any words as her voice seemed to have gotten stuck somewhere on the way to her lips.

Anamaria growled slightly. "I say we force it out of her if she ain't gonna talk!"

Gibbs shook his head slightly. "Nay…tis terrible bad luck to aggravate a witch."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Anamaria, please relieve Cotton of his duties and make sure we're still on the right course, I don't like sailing astray," he drawled, and watched as the woman pirate gave a small scowl and a quick nod before stalking from the room while muttering under her breath. With that done, he turned his attention back to Vivien.

She flinched as he eyed her slightly.

"I apologize, I never did bother to find out your first name, darling."

Vivien pursed her lips, wondering if she should tell him or not. The decided against it and found her hidden, inner dignity and courage before replying. "You'll address me as _Mademoiselle _Brideau or Miss Brideau, nothing more, _comprenez_?"

Gibbs mumbled lightly to himself while Jack gave a fake, satisfied smile. "Ahh…_oui, oui. _Captain Jack Sparrow at your service, luv," he announced. "And now, if you'd be so kind as to tell me the location of your father's treasure, our business will be over until we reach Madagascar, savvy?"

Vivien might as well have died right then and there because she felt her heart drop suddenly in her chest. Her insides froze over, and her eyes darted from Jack, to the floor, to Gibbs, to the door, and then back to the floor, her mind uncertain. How could she tell him where her father's treasure was when she herself didn't know? The only way that was possible was if she had her father's map – which was tucked away in her room with her undergarments.

"I cannot," she piped in a small voice.

Jack looked like he didn't understand. "And…why not?"

Vivien felt the beginnings of a panic attack coming on… "Because…I-I don't know."

He cocked his head at her in confusion. "You mean you can't because you don't know why you can't or you can't because you know where?"

She opened her mouth to reply but found she couldn't make head nor tale of what he had just said.

"Cat got your tongue, love?" he quipped, grinning madly.

Gibbs cast a worried look at his captain. "Sir, tain't wise to befuddle witches…"

Vivien shot a glare at the older man. "I am no witch!" she retorted.

"That's what I told him," Jack declared, and her head whipped around to him once more. He smirked. "Now, would ye be so kind as to answer my question?"

Flustered now, Vivien flapped her mouth several times before coming up with an answer. "I don't know!"

"Aye, we knew that one, love," Jack replied, somewhat irritated.

Shying away from him, Vivien frowned. "Then what more do you want?"

"To know if you don't know simply because you don't know or not."

She closed her eyes in frustration and fear, still not quite understanding what the pirate was saying. "I mean, I don't know where it is!"

Jack looked flabbergasted, quite a change from his earlier moods. "What do you mean you don't know?" he demanded. "You're the daughter of Jacques de Bourbon, ay?"

"_Oui – pardon? _I-I…no! _Non, je ne suis pas la fille du Jacques!_" she shouted, almost hoping if she confused him enough he would simply give up and leave her alone.

"That's funny, because I distinctly remember you calling yourself _Mademoiselle _Brideau, which connects you directly to our dear Jacques Brideau of Bourbon Island," Jack stated slowly, a grin flickering across his lips at the sight of the flustered female before him. She seemed to be afraid of everyone around her, including himself. _Definitely including meself…_

Vivien sighed with defeat. "I told you I don't know where the treasure is!"

Jack didn't believe her for one moment. "But I've heard you were the only one he trusted with the coordinates, my dear, so therefore you _must_ know," he countered swiftly, taking a step towards the woman while Gibbs watched with a wary eye, still not believing the woman wasn't a witch.

She quickly shuffled backwards behind the desk, content to keep the piece of furniture between them. "He gave me a map," she answered truthfully, her voice somewhat high.

Jack leaned forward onto his desk, a sly smile forming on his lips. "And have you looked at this map?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Then you must know where the treasure is."

She shook her head mutely. What, just because she had looked at the cursed thing a few times that meant she knew where her father's treasure was?

"Ye don't know where the treasure is?" Jack questioned, feeling his good mood slipping once again. _Bloody women…_

She shook her head again.

"Then where's the map?" he deadpanned, all traces of humour suddenly vanished.

"It's at…my-my manor, back on the island," she stated meekly, immediately wishing she hadn't.

Jack sighed, running his tongue along the top of his teeth. Then, turning to Gibbs, he nodded to the door. "Run up and tell Anamaria to set sail back to the island. If that's where the map is that's where we'll go."

Vivien felt her heart drop again. Going back to the island was a good thing, surely, but not when it held Dorian Belfast waiting for her. What would think? Why would pirates kidnap _her _of all people, after all? And Dorian must never of the treasure. Never.

Vivien snapped into action before Gibbs could exit the room, a hand shooting out as if to stop him.

"W-wait! You don't want to do that!" she shouted quickly, and two sets of eyes turned to her.

Jack turned to her with an eyebrow arched under his red scarf. The beads on his hair jingled somewhat. "Why ever not? You said yourself that you don't know where the treasure is and that the map is back at your little manor on the hill. What's there to do but head back and retrieve it?"

_Think, Vivien, think! _she told herself angrily, and winced at what finally came from her mouth. "I lied! I do know where it is!"

Jack Sparrow stared silently at her a moment, eyes contemplating while Gibbs stood waiting in the doorway, a look of expectancy upon his face. Finally, the pirate captain smirked. "You either do or you don't. Make up your mind."

"I do!" she answered immediately, if not a little too loud.

His smirk transformed into a grin. "Very well, then. Gibbs!"

"Aye, sir?" the older man answered.

Jack faced his first mate. "I believe Miss Brideau has had enough questioning for a bit, so be a good man and show her to a cabin," he ordered lightly, and as Gibbs started towards Vivien, spoke again. "Oh, she'll need a change of clothes. No matter how much I admire a woman who's willing to run around in her nightclothes, I'm afraid the crew won't take to it. And be sure to remove all blunt, sharp, heavy and potentially harmful objects from her possession and the room." He grinned cheekily at her. "We can't have you braining any of my crew with books, now can we?"

Vivien frowned, clearly not amused.

Jack nodded his head to her and swaggered from the room, feeling like a king would, in command of everything around him.

**--**

**French Translations:**

Oui - yes

Monsieur…Capitaine? – Mister…Captain?

Pas quelque chose bon – something like 'not a good thing'

Réveillez, vous grande et laide brute – Wake up, you big and ugly brute!

Comprenez? - understand?

Non, je ne suis pas la fille du Jacques! – No, I'm not Jacques's daughter!

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	7. Un Jour Long

The Trouble with Women

**Chapter 6**

Un Jour Long

**--**

Vivien had been escorted by the older man, Gibbs, out of the room she now knew to be the Captain's quarters and into a long wooden passageway. She had been led past several doors before the man finally settled on one about three quarters down the hall.

She had been led to believe it was a cabin, but it was no bigger than a closet. It had one small porthole, complete with a small cot, small chair and set of shelves. A lantern swung from the ceiling.

Before she could venture inside, however, several pirates barged in from seemingly nowhere. Then, she had watched, somewhat dumbfounded, as her chair and small shelving unit were snatched up and hauled out, leaving nothing but a cot and one small window. Then, Gibbs gave her a push forward and the door had been slammed shut and locked without a word. Vivien was left in her own company.

But only for a moment.

A crewmember slipped back into the room, looking very wary, snatched up the lantern, tossed down a candle and cover with one match and then scurried out as though the devil himself was on his heels.

That was how Vivien found herself, alone in a bare room with nothing but a sparsely furnished cot and half-used candle to keep her company.

She slowly inspected the bed, watching it suspiciously for a moment before deciding to sit down. There was no telling if it was infested with rats, and a nightgown was hardly protection against such repulsive things.

Slowly, Vivien's eyes drifted to the window, which sat opposite her, and she lacked the courage to step up and look out. She was afraid of what she would see. A vast, empty landscape of blue water, connecting to the lonely sky and fickle clouds? No doubt that was what awaited her. An ocean of emptiness. Loneliness.

Her mind drifted back to the conversation she had had with Jack Sparrow, captain of the pirate ship. He had spoken of her father's map, her father's treasure. Her treasure. And he had asked her if she knew where it was. And foolishly, she had answered yes. The answer was no. No, she didn't know where her father's treasure was – besides the fact that it lay somewhere in the Caribbean. Maybe, if she had been more competent in map reading, she could have figured out the exact island, but she wasn't. So, she had dug herself into a deep hole that she was sure she would never get out of. _Bon travail, Vivien…_she scolded herself mentally.

A sudden knock on the door made her jump, and wide hazel eyes snapped to the locked door. What was the point, she wondered, of knocking when the door was locked? She didn't know, and cast her thoughts aside as she heard the familiar clicking of the lock. Quickly, she pulled in on herself, huddling in the corner on the cot, trying to get as far away from the door as possible. If there was one thing she had ever learned in her worthless life, it was that _pirates sont mauvais!_

Slowly, the door swung open, squeaking unpleasantly on its hinges and Vivien watched as the man she knew as Mr. Gibbs step into the room. She noticed he didn't close the door behind him and was staring at her with much the same expression as she was him: a disagreeable combination of fear and unease.

"Cap'n's orders that you have a dress, Miss Brideau," he spoke slowly, observing her warily.

Vivien nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak. She was too terrified she would say something wrong, and her punishment would be her death. But then again, the pirates needed her to find the treasure, right?

Vivien snapped back to attention as Gibbs took a hesitant step towards her, a plain looking dress held in his arms. He rather resembled a man who had been forced to do something on pain of death, and she had to stare at him with a look of profound confusion. The last time she had checked, she had been anything _but _intimidating.

And then she remembered. This was the man who thought she was a witch, and as much as she liked the idea of someone being terrified out of their wits because of her, Vivien really had to wish to branded _une sorcière_. As she remembered, witches were burnt to death or their heads chopped off, and Vivien wasn't keen on dying in either case. _Non, non, non, _she had planned to die peacefully in a large bed, sleeping soundly so the agonizing throes of death wouldn't be—

The man cleared his throat, trying to get her attention.

She took a deep breath before edging towards the side of the bed. "I'm not anything to be afraid of, sir," she stated quietly. "And I'm certainly no witch, as you seem so inclined to think." Holding her arms out, she beckoned the man to give her the dress, her eyes still slightly wary of a surprise attack lying in wait. She had been told by someone that pirates were rather talented actors.

"Deceit walks hand in hand with the devil," he murmured, more to himself that anyone else, and instead tossed the dress towards her open arms. He then proceeded to cross himself vigorously and murmur several words that she did not catch.

Vivien held onto the scrap of cloth like a lifeline. "If anything, I should be the one afraid of you. However, sir, I find it terribly hard when you are quaking in your boots before me," she answered stiffly, and shuffled back onto the bed with her prize.

The portly man stared hard at her a moment, eyes squinting slightly, before a hint of a smile touched his face. "What be your name, lass?"

She cast him a quick glance, inspecting the plain dress woven of cotton, its dark grey colour dismal. "I believe you already know that, _monsieur._"

"There's no need for manners aboard a pirate ship, Miss, we don't much care for the rules of polite society," he said slowly.

Lowering the dress to her lap, Vivien stared at the man before her and found that she was oddly unafraid of him. It was strange, she had never in her life not been scared witless of every new person she met, but yet here was a man before her, a pirate no less, who she found strangely amusing instead of frightening. Somewhat in indecision, Vivien bit her lower lip, eyes glancing to the door once more. Just because she wasn't afraid didn't mean she trusted the man.

"Vivien," she answered simply, for she had never been one for greetings and chitchat and pleasantries, simply because she couldn't remember or take part in them.

The pirate before her, Gibbs, seemed to regard her as more of a human now that she had a name to her, and she watched as he gave a slight grin.

"Joshamee Gibbs, then, first mate aboard the _Black Pearl_."

She stared at him. "The _Black Pearl?_" she questioned, the very name sending shivers down her spine.

He nodded solemnly. "The name o' the ship you're sailing upon, missy."

She didn't like the name, so she fell silent, finding nothing more to speak of.

Gibbs cleared his throat. "Cap'n Jack'll be wanting your company for dinner tonight, but until then I suggest you get settled. Lunch will be ready soon, so be ready. No need fretting over anything that's already come to pass."

Staring at him strangely for a moment, Vivien finally nodded. What was it about this man's company that put her at such ease? She didn't know, and was somewhat sad to see him nod his head briskly at her before walking from the small, empty room and locking the door behind him.

Vivien was left alone with her thoughts, and anyone who was close enough to her knew that was never a good thing. Leaving alone a woman such as herself was not a wise thing, for her imagination tended to get the better of her along with her nightmares.

She had a feeling it was going to be _un jour long_.

**--**

**French Translations:**

Bon travail – good work

Pirates sont mauvais! – Pirates are bad!

Un jour long – a long day

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	8. Filthy Pirates and Spaniards

The Trouble with Women

**Chapter 7**

Filthy Pirates and Spaniards

**--**

There was a loud knocking on the door of his study, loud enough to disturb Dorian Belfast from his musings and searching. Before him there was a large stack of weathered old notes, each adorned with the same flowery script and each creased from being folded and refolded a hundred times over in their years of being read. They were the letters of Jacques Brideau, famous pirate captain loyal only to his ship, his crew and his daughter – the daughter that had now escaped the confines of her manor and was in the grasp of a pirate captain. One who had no doubt learned of the great treasure she was the sole heir of.

Before him also lay the map her father had sent her so many years ago. The very sight of it made his blood soar with triumph.

He glanced up at the door, the single oil lantern flickering beside him the only light within the whole room. It cast long and dark shadows along the walls.

The knocking came again, and he let a small smile curl over his features, his dark eyes glinting like gold in the light.

"Come in!" he commanded, and moments later the door was cracked open to reveal a tall man with long dark hair, a goatee and an expensive taste in clothing. The door slammed shut behind him, and the man approached the desk without a word, his movements accompanied by a strange jingle, the result of his neck being adorned with many fine necklaces and his clothes embroidered with silver.

"You're late, _Señor_ Elaido. I've been waiting for two hours now," Belfast stated, his tone bored but his eyes dangerous.

The Spaniard cocked an eyebrow at the man, shrugging lightly before settling himself comfortably in the chair opposite Belfast, a look of equal monotony spread across his dark and handsome features.

"What can I say? The dirty little whore insisted I stay a while longer. What kind of man am I to cast away such opportunity, eh, Belfast? Take what you can when you can, _comprende?_" he drawled on in a thick Spanish accent.

Belfast stared at him a moment before turning is attention back to the letters. "You're aware of the situation, Antonio?"

The Spaniard grinned. "_Si_, it seems as though your little dove Vivien Brideau has finally broken away from her restraints and decided to do something with herself. _Verdaderamente, _I commend her."

Belfast merely glared. "My little dove, as you say, was kidnapped very much against her will and taken aboard a pirate ship as prisoner. Now, have you done what I have asked or am I merely wasting my time?"

Antonio looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. "The name, it is on the tip of my tongue…the _Dark Jewel? _No, it was the _Black_ something or other…the _Black Prize_, the _Black Gem, _no, no, no…it was the _Black Pearl,_" he said, speaking the name with a strange sort of lilt. "One of my informants saw them come in and recognized the name of the captain. Jack Sparrow, they call him. Apparently, he's famous, but I don't know how that can be when _I've_ never heard of him."

Fixing the Spaniard with a hard glare, Belfast declared slowly, "Oh, he's enough of a legend, Antonio. You're not well travelled enough to hear of him. He prefers the Caribbean of all places and tends to stay close to home."

Antonio feigned boredom. "And that's how he heard of your lovely little treasure trove, I assume? Rumours must still be whispered ever now and again."

Belfast nodded. "I need a favour."

"Have you decided to find your riches, then?" Antonio asked.

"No, I've decided to go after Sparrow and our lovely little Vivien Brideau before she can give away the resting place of my fortunes. The last thing I need is another greedy pirate on the scent of my gold. And to do that, Antonio, I need a ship and a crew," Belfast all but sneered, feeling his distaste for the man before him grow, even though they were quite profitable as business partners. And that was all it was. Business.

"And you want my ship and my crew?" Antonio guessed, looking expectantly at the man across from him.

Belfast nodded.

A slow grin spread over Antonio's face, and he felt the beginnings of a proposal coming along in his head. "How about this, then," he started slowly. "I let you aboard my ship for a price and I'll sail you wherever your heart desires."

Belfast thought about it for a moment before agreeing, somewhat grudgingly. He had no wish to pay the corrupt man before him, but did he have a choice? He regarded the Spaniard with a look of distaste. "And how much do you demand?"

Antonio shrugged. "It all depends on how long you're aboard and where you want to go."

The guardian leaned back in his chair, his eyes once again drawn to the letters. "Fine, agreed. I need you to find where Sparrow is headed with our Miss Brideau. I'm sure your informant will have that information too."

"For a price, _mi amigo_," the Spaniard replied coolly.

**--**

Vivien had long since donned the plain dress that had been brought by Gibbs. And she was quite right when she had thought it was plain. Not a gloriously adorned garment with frilly cuffs and plunging neckline, instead a trim and cheap grey piece of woollen fabric sewn together to form a peasant's dress. A peasant's dress! Most likely _worn_ by a peasant as some time or another.

That thought alone was enough to persuade Vivien to burn the disgusting piece of filth. She was a lady, was she not? A Frenchwoman deserving the best clothes in stock, even while she was held captive, was she not?

Apparently, she was not.

She had come to the conclusion that it was either wear the dress and risk such horrible plagues as ticks and mites and other _dégoûtant_ creepy crawlies…or brave the terrible wrath of a pirate captain that had been knocked unconscious by her less than several hours before…

She had chosen the first of her options. In no way shape or form did Vivien consider herself remotely brave enough for a task such as facing a pirate without breaking down and weeping, crying, begging for mercy and god knows what else. And she had no wish to make a fool of herself…any more so than she already had, that is.

So, Vivien had donned the dress and sat down upon the stiff cot in the relatively dreary confines of her cabin, with nothing but a candle and match to keep her company. The hours passed by with the pace of a snail, slow but steady. Lunch had been delivered – nothing but a slice of crusted bread and what looked to be some sort of odd stew with large orange chunks of something or other mixed in with it – and she had eaten it, no matter how wary she was. She was hungry, and even the promise of poison in her food couldn't keep it from her salivating mouth. Death, she had thought, might even have been a pleasant way out of the mess she had gotten herself into.

_Hélas_, the hours once again rolled by and she felt no different that before.

Then, as the window before her displayed the darkening sky, and she had begun to think of the match and candle once more, a knock came upon the hard wood of her door. Once again, she stiffened at the unwanted company, and once more, she wondered why in the world anyone would knock when she had no control over who opened her door.

She didn't speak, and second later the rattle of the lock accompanied the opening of the door. None other than Joshamee Gibbs poked his head in, his eyes darting quickly across the room before settling on her. Vivien realized she had hardly moved and inch from when they had spoken that morning.

"Cap'n Jack wants you up for dinner, Miss," he stated bluntly, stepping into the room with a little more hesitation that was normal. "I've come to take you to him."

Vivien nodded to him, feeling more at ease now that she knew who had knocked upon her door. "Then I don't have much of a choice but to go with you then, _monsieur,_" she stated sombrely, pushing herself from the bed and setting her bare feet on the cold panels of the wooden floor. It came as a slight shock, a jolt running up her legs, but she ignored it and waited for Gibbs to take the lead.

_No stupid running or fainting now, Vivien_, her inner voice told her firmly, and she listened.

Gibbs nodded shortly and left the room, Vivien following closely behind. The hallway was darkened, lit only by two hanging lanterns at each end. The golden light barely made it all the way down the passageway, let alone illuminated anything well enough to keep Vivien from following. Of course, she had always been somewhat clumsy, too. It was just another imperfection written upon her long list of faults. Not that she minded. The people tended to stay away when they knew what kind of a woman she was. They didn't know she liked her privacy.

But Vivien could hear the whispers of _"dement!"_ echoing in her ears as Gibbs led her up a set of stairs and onto another level of the ship.

She was still trying to grasp the size of the ship. It seemed huge. _Too big and slow to out sail Belfast when he comes to collect me, _she thought to herself, and managed to curse this 'Captain Jack Sparrow's' foolishness. He obviously hadn't been in the pirate trade for long if he made such mistakes! He was going to get them all killed.

Her frustrating ebbed away when she and Gibbs emerged onto the deck of the _Black Pearl_. Her heart gave a painful lurch and a skip, near jumping clear out of her throat, it felt like.

There were pirates.

_Beaucoup des pirates! _her mind screamed, horrified that she had been sitting in her room with these savages only a deck above her. Lots and lots of dirty pirates…now standing right before her…so close!

And they mulled about the night air with drinks and food, their voices and laughter carrying across the deck with vulgar twists and foul tongues. The stench of sweaty bodies was almost unimaginable. Completely and utterly disgusting! Vivien had to force down the urge to vomit on sight when the smell hit her, oh the god awful smell! She was going to pass out!

They turned to stare as Gibbs led her past them, she close on his heals, looking for all the world like a jittery, lost dog, words dying on her lips, fear coursing through her veins like some sort of painful adrenaline rush. They lowered their mugs, swallowed their food, turned to sneer and stare. Stared hungrily with dark eyes, crude smiles and filthy thoughts running through their heads and oh she couldn't take it, it was suffocating and her mind was rambling even as she stood there, coherent thought lost as they all looked on and she wanted to faint or scream or something just to get them away, tell them to stop watching her like hungry wolves, and she wanted to vomit, oh how she wanted to die right then and—

"Miss?" Gibbs thought broke through her panicked thoughts, and she nearly snapped around, staring at him with wide eyes.

Then she realized that she had somehow made it across the deck, and they stood before a set of ornately carved wooden doors. Sometime in her near state of insanity, the roar of drunken laughter and muttering had returned, and she was no longer the centre of attention. She swallowed fitfully, trying to settle her clenching stomach and force down the bile rising in her throat. Oh why her, why did the merciful lord have to be so cruel and bless her with such a fitfully _vie hideuse_?

She gave Gibbs a small, watery sort of smile, but she imagined it looked like a grimace one saw on a woman who was dying a slow, painful death with a dagger stuck through her gut. "Lead the way," she declared, trying to sound brave but failing miserably.

The portly man arched a bushy eyebrow at her before shrugging slightly and raising his knuckles to the door. He knocked three times, even, loud.

Vivien tried to ignore the stench all around her, the smell of unwashed bodies and dirt and urine wafting up from the pirates and their drink and food. She wanted to run away, to throw herself over the side of the ship, to _swim _to shore, but she knew her feet wouldn't take her there even if she had been brave enough to do it. No, Vivien was trapped and she knew it.

Gibbs opened the doors and gestured for her to enter. Her mind must have drifted far, because she hasn't heard a voice from within. Taking a deep breath and swallowing her unease - which tasted remarkably like vomit – she stepped inside.

Nothing more was said and the doors were shut behind her and she was blanketed in darkness. She shivered despite the humid air; a careful shudder tickled its way delicately up her spine and spread tantalizingly over her shoulders before it crept up the small hairs of her nape. Vivien decided she did not want to be there. _No_, she decided, _here is definitely not a good place to be._

She could hear the pounding of her heart, her breathing in her ears. Her eyes scanned the room for signs of life, but there was nothing but the erratic flickering of small candles inside lanterns spread across the length of the room, and two set upon a table in the back near the windows. There was food upon that table. A delicate feast filled with the most delicious things Vivien had ever laid eyes upon, and she realized how little she had eaten for lunch and how she had spent all her energy worrying over the night to come.

And now here she was, standing in the captain's cabin, feeling like nothing more than little red riding hood straight from her father's fairytale, and Jack Sparrow was the big bad wolf, lurking somewhere in the darkness, most likely watching her that very moment…

"H-Hello?" she forced herself to speak, taking a tentative step further into the darkness.

The candles around the room flickered, and she felt the warm breeze wafting off the Indian Ocean, the result from a window propped open at the far end of the cabin. At least there was no stench from outside contaminating the room, but there mere thought of Jack Sparrow watching was enough to send her into hysterics. He frightened her to no end, and her body was once again tensing to choose one of the three valuable F's. _Fight, flight or faint._

Her heart pounding…

The sound of her own breathing…

The muffled laughter from on deck and the gentle groaning of the ship as it swayed on the water.

It was all too much. She was ready to turn and leave, to go back onto the deck to face those disgusting pirates with their rude, mocking leers. She was ready to take flight and run.

"My apologies for the lack of light, m'dear, but me crew insisted they have all the lanterns on deck for their celebration tonight," declared a voice, deep and slurred and quite close to her right ear. "So you see, that left me with only a few candles. Hope you don't mind."

Vivien bit back a scream, whirled about, and came face to face with Jack Sparrow himself, who was looking quite smug and grinning contentedly to himself despite his words. They hadn't sounded the least bit sincere, anyway.

She stared up at him with wide eyes, somewhat indignant but more in shock than anything. "_Monsieur! _Y-you have been behind me this entire time? Waiting like some sort of…criminal? Hiding in the shadows?" she exclaimed. She was outraged. Or as outraged as a woman could be in her position.

He merely slipped around her, looking somewhat contemplating, and swayed over to the table heavily laden with food. "You'll address me as Captain while you're aboard my ship," he stated in that slurred manner that suggested he was a bit drunk. "And as for your question…have you forgotten already that I'm a pirate? A pirate _Captain_, to be precise. 'Member that."

Vivien watched as he settled himself in the chair facing her and propped his boots up on the table. She didn't need to tell herself she was much more at ease now that she could see Jack Sparrow, but in no way did she feel her fear subside. She was utterly terrified. This man, this pirate before her, could toss her out of his room at any moment and allow the crew to ravage her, or he could simply run her through with his sword, or shoot her in the head with his pistol, or toss her overboard to the sharks…or all three…

His deep, strangely hypnotizing voice interrupted her thoughts, "Are you gonna have a seat, love, or am I to eat all this myself?" he asks, gesturing wildly to the food upon the table.

For a moment, Vivien's eyes darted from the food to Jack and then back again, trying to make a decision as to what to do. He was like some sort of snake, she decided; a cobra, swaying and watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike down its prey.

From his position behind the table, Jack carefully scrutinised his adversary. She resembled a rabbit in the den of a fox, or a chicken faced with a wolf, or the mouse that the cat loomed over…

She was edgy. Panicked. Odd. Very odd. He couldn't recall meeting a woman with her particular variety of _strangeness _before, and that was saying something.

This woman, _Mademoiselle _Brideau, as she liked to be addressed, which Jack had decided hours before would simply not do, was plain as plain could be. Certainly not _unpleasant_ to look at, no, just inconsequential. She didn't possess stunning blonde hair like a certain Miss Swann, and she certainly didn't have Elizabeth's overall beauty. But then Jack hadn't seen many women who could compete with Elizabeth Swann of Port Royal, just like he hadn't ever met a man so stiff as Will Turner – but that was beside the point.

Nevertheless, Jack decided that _Mademoiselle_ Brideau was a pretty woman with her bright green eyes – which he found himself somewhat admiring – strong jaw, and pretty lips. And she had freckles, which weren't prized among the blokes of polite society, but he had heard stories that she hardly ever left the confines of her manor, so he couldn't imagine that would matter. But she was a nice piece of work, he decided, with a slight smirk gracing his face. She wasn't terribly slight or slender, somewhat big-boned, as he'd heard it called. But not heavy like some women, heaven's no! She had a certain softness to her, a cherub like quality with rosy cheeks. She had the looks of a woman that had an easy living. She'd also been blessed with a pair of strong shoulders and beautiful hips. Now, hips were something Jack Sparrow could admire on a woman. The whores and strumpets of Tortuga didn't have a bit of meat on their bones, and seemed to be bred purposely for the reason of having spindly limbs and no hips…

Jack cut his thoughts short as she finally moved, stepping forward hesitantly to take the seat opposite him.

Having made her decision, Vivien attempted to settle into the seat facing the pirate, but only found that she felt more uncomfortable. The pirate's grin widened, revealing several golden teeth, as she sat with that nervous aura still clear about her. She fidgeted with the arms of the chair, not meeting his eyes and looking very out of place.

Relieving the woman from his gaze, Jack leaned back and spread his arms wide. "Dig in. I didn't have them feed you that dog's soup at lunch just to have you full at supper, now did I?" he said, and his grin only widened more when her green eyes immediately snapped up to meet his dark ones.

He saw them narrow for a moment, just a hint of anger, before it slipped away and she began to ignore him as best she could by observing the food before her with a critical eye.

Jack decided that having this one aboard would be very entertaining. Not to mention she was going to make him a very rich man.

**--**

**French & Spanish Translations:**

Comprende? – understand?

Sí – yes

Verdaderamente – truly

Mi amigo – I'm sure you all know this but here it is anyway: my friend

Dégoûtant – disgusting

Hélas – alas

Dement – crazy

Beaucoup de pirates – lots of pirates

Vie hideuse - hideous life

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	9. Of Pistols and Butter Knives

**The Trouble with Women**

**Chapter 8**

Of Pistols and Butter Knives

**--**

"It's not going to bite you, love," Jack broke the silence in the room as Vivien stared at the bread in her hand, inspecting it thoroughly as thought waiting for it to sprout fangs and bite her hand off.

A small frown appeared on her face, and her green eyes darted up to meet Jack's grinning face. She eyed him, not quite knowing what to think of the man. Should she be afraid? Would he pull a sword out on her at any second? Should she be wary? He seemed more than a little tipsy. Or should she be somewhat relieved? He didn't seem at all the like the kind of man Belfast was. He wasn't large, threatening—well he looked _slightly_ threatening, but not nearly as much so as Belfast…

With renewed ferocity, Vivien chomped down on the piece of baguette with a vigour she didn't know she had. She supposed it was some sort of act, telling the pirate before her, "ooh, look at me you _beau brute diaboliquement_! Don't think I'm afraid of you! You look too drunk to walk properly, let alone skewer someone with your sword!"

Of course, she wouldn't _dare_ say it aloud. That would most definitely cause unending humiliation and a very angry pirate captain. Something she was trying rather hard to avoid.

Jack just grinned saucily at her, his few golden teeth catching in the candlelight and glittering, his eyes laughing at her as though he had somehow read her mind.

That thought seemed to particularly strike her, and she found herself wondering if maybe he _could_ read minds. _If so,_ she mused to herself,_ mon Dieu, strike me down now with a thunderbolt, s'il vous plaît, so I won't have to endure the humiliation!_

But as no immediate strike of lightning burst through the cabin roof and fried her to a nice little crisp, Vivien took it as a good omen and ripped another chunk of baguette off with her teeth. She supposed she resembled some wild animal, like a wolf from the Americas—eyes feral and teeth bared, ripping ravenously at its newest kill…

And then, all at once, her mouth was watering with the taste of the bread, spurred on by the smell of the food and she stomach felt as though it would cave in on itself if she didn't have more…and so she did.

The Frenchwoman indulged herself in the fineries of pirate food, taking a slice of Rissoles—salted and seasoned pork—there, and how it seemed tomelt on her tongue! And a bite of that delectable fruit, pears and bananas ripe with flavour! A taste of that wonderful little dish over there—it reminded her of capon pie, how wonderfully Édouard would make it! But she couldn't forget that slice of lemon. She found them strangely tasty with their pungent, sour flavour that felt like sweet sugar on her tongue. Oh, she was in heaven, for delicious food was heaven…

Jack watched curiously as the woman before him dug into the feast much like a starved street urchin gone days without a crust of stale bread or drop of wine. And how she guzzled that wine, something he found the French particularly adequate at, her mauve lips parting from the mug with a deep red tinge. He couldn't help but be entranced by the sight, even if she did have atrocious manners. _Elizabeth__ would be horrified_, he thought to himself with a lazy sort of smile.

His mind must have wandered, because the next moment he looked up she had stopped. Quite literally frozen. He lounged in his chair a moment, confused, before raising a bejewelled finger and opening his mouth to wonder out loud just _why_ she had halted such an amusing display of table etiquette.

But then, he was interrupted, something he didn't particularly enjoy, for being a captain meant everyone listened when you spoke, right?

"Why don't you eat, pirate?" she asked, more demanded, her face not showing meekness but rather fear.

He was about to wonder why aloud, but he was cut off once more.

"It's poisoned, isn't it?" she all but shrieked, her slender fingers—which had been grabbing and snatching all the food they could find only moments before—were hovering over her plate uncertainly.

Jack had the sudden urge to laugh, whether it was from his relative drunkenness or plain good humour, he did so.

Vivien managed to look somewhat outraged as his light chuckled turned to a deep laugh. Was this man, this _pirate, _laughing at her situation even as the poison in her stomach soaked into her veins and crept toward her vital organs, the very breath in her lungs liable to stop at any moment?

Luckily, Jack caught Vivien's look of incomprehensible fear, disgust and confusion and decided to enlighten her before she passed out from shock.

"No worries, darling! It's not poisoned, I assure you," he slurred in a mocking tone, a wicked grin curling on his lips making it quite clear he was very amused.

"…It's not?" Vivien questioned hesitantly, and Jack had to marvel somewhat at her near flawless English, as she had hardly even an accent as she spoke—mimicking the stuffy, puffed up ladies of the English court.

"Nay," he continued, leaning forward and smirking devilishly at her. "_Au contraire_¸ on account of me and me mates nicked it all from your lovely little kitchen back on the island. What you see before you is all your own."

"You stole from me?" Vivien demanded, forgetting her fear for a moment to sound outraged.

He leaned back into his chair, still smirking. "Aye, and we also managed to pinch a lovely French lady from it all, too," he reminded jovially, pleased with himself.

Scowling, she fixed him with a stare that oozed hatred. Just because she was a paranoid git didn't mean she couldn't have a temper! "Thief!" she accused him.

Jack cocked his head at her. "Pirate," he corrected.

"Scoundrel," she glared.

"Villain," he smiled charmingly.

"Knave!"

"A devil'll do just fine, love, if ye don't mind," he said. "But I much prefer Captain Sparrow to your lovely little compliments."

"You disgusting, vile man!" Vivien retorted angrily, refusing to acknowledge the title of the man who had kidnapped her and locked her in a room aboard his ship for a day with nothing to do but stare at the walls and get sick from the constant rolling of the waves.

Jack's smile dropped somewhat, his eyes darkening. "Aye, and the Captain of this ship, so I'll expect you to address me so."

Vivien felt her resolve crumble somewhat as his face darkened, but she steeled herself bravely. This man needed her cooperation to find her father's treasure. He wouldn't dare harm her.

"I won't," she declared, feeling quite high and mighty now she had convinced herself she was needed.

Jack seemed to lose all his former humour. "You will," he replied, voice lowering and losing the cheery, drunken gait, "As well as everyone else aboard my ship, or you'll be tossed to the sharks and they can deal with ye, agreed?"

The young Frenchwoman felt her stomach flip at the mention of sharks. Not only could she _not_ swim, despite many attempts by Amaury, sharks were possibly the most frightening thing alive—right after Belfast and much more so than Jack Sparrow. Although he was certainly going up on her list of _gens__ effrayants._

"Agreed!" she all but squeaked, having to take a moment to even find her voice.

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed, good humour restored, and she couldn't help being curious about his mood swings. They were much like a woman's before her time of the month, which she found quite amusing. She would have laughed aloud if she wasn't so frightened of the man.

The sigh of Jack's dark eyes upon her made those thoughts vanish completely, the image of him reading minds haunting her. He grinned at her, his golden teeth revealing themselves proudly.

"Now that we have that all settled and done, why don't we eat then, eh?" he declared, arching and eyebrow at her with his arms spread wide.

Vivien merely blinked and waited, still not sure about the food before her. The urge to know is she was going to simply drop dead at any moment was still with her, so she simply resolved to wait and watch him take the first bite.

Understanding, Jack a positively lazy grin, his dark eyes twinkling madly, before plucking a grape from one of the platters and popping it into his mouth. For a moment, he seemed to be in complete bliss, and then he gave her an expectant look.

Still, Vivien did not make a move to eat the food before her. It would have been quite simple for Jack to pluck out the unspoiled portions if he had added the drug himself, after all. And powdered poison was almost too easy to conceal within food these days.

Running his tongue languidly across his front teeth, Jack rolled his eyes at the woman before him. "You realize if I intended to poison you, you would have already eaten enough to kill and your fate would be sealed. What I don't understand is the problem with eating more if you were already doomed, hence my confusion at your hesitation," he drawled on, fingers twiddling and hands waving about to punctuate ever point during his speech.

Vivien gave him a blank look, take the time to sort out the man's words before putting together an explanation. When she had it all down, she fixed him with a flat look and declared plainly, "If I ate more I would be dead quicker."

Jack took a moment to ponder her answer, brow furrowed and lips pursed, eyes narrowed and shifting slightly. He had yet to findout what went on inside this woman's head, and so far she remained somewhat of a mystery to him. But Jack Sparrow had always taken a liking to mysteries—as well as treasure. This one, it seemed, was wrapped up into one nice little package right before him just waiting to be opened.

He finally emerged from his musings to see the Frenchwoman perched on the edge of her chair, same as usual, tense and frowning. His grin was almost instantly restored.

"Well then, if you really don't intend to have any more it's safe to say his is all for me, eh?" he quipped lightly and promptly dug in, loading his plate full of the wonderful food and producing a bottle of rum from seemingly nowhere.

Vivien watched, stiff, as the pirate snatched one of everything—teacakes, vegetable quiches, chicken, pork, fruit and vegetables (he seemed rather partial to the oranges rather than the lemons). He poured himself a glass of wine and gulped it down much like water before clamping his teeth down on the cork of his rim bottle, ripping it free and spitting it off to the side where it was lost to darkness. He then proceeded to take a large swig from the bottle, draining it almost to the bottom.

With a pensive frown, Vivien watched and wondered if all her fears were just foolishness and she was being the paranoid old hag again. The pirate seemed to have insatiable appetite, and she would have bee completely disgusted with his manners at any other time is she hadn't have been so hungry herself. Despite her display of starving madwoman antics before, she hadn't eaten enough to fill her stomach or drank enough wine to quench her thirst. Although she would have much preferred the odd fruit drinks—cherry and raspberry juice—Édouard made for her back home. They were more welcome that the taste of wine. Belfast was the one who made her drink the stuff, and the deep red colour of it reminded her of him and his dark eyes that seemed to glow red when he was angry.

But still she felt as though she was starving, and before she knew what she was doing, her hand have moved of it's own accord and snatched up an orange, which she peeled greedily and sank her teeth into with desperate fervour. Oh, and how it tasted on her tongue!

After a day of nothing but horrible stew and stale break this was heaven! Except for the filthy pirate across from her. She could very well do without him for a while. Or a year. Or the rest of her life for all she cared.

Jack smirked to himself and popped the rest of a quiche into his mouth as he once again watched the Frenchwoman fill her plate to the very edges with food. That was what the French loved. Their wine and their food—and what positively delicious food it was.

Plucking a green apple from one of the plates that sat before him, he scrutinizes it carefully before biting almost viciously into it, taking such a large chunk out he almost ended up choking himself. Luckily, as his eyes went wide and his stifled a cough, Vivien was occupied by one of those delicious little pastries and unable to see the strangled look of panic that spread across his face. That, and the unnecessarily large swig taken from the rum bottle at his side. Glaring at the apple a moment, he merely tossed it behind him and cleared his throat the mask the sound of it smacking something hard in the depths of his cabin.

Vivien spared him the smallest of glances, taking a huge bite from a chicken leg decked with fenne and layered with spices. She took brief moment to gloat upon the fact she was eating the terrifying bird. Ah, yet another reason Jack Sparrow made her uneasy. His very name was related to those horrible little devils that had attacked her one morning on her seventh birthday as she attempted to catch a peak at their nest. _L'incident__ de moineau._

Jack arched his eyebrows pensively at the woman and shifted in his seat. Really, if he had simply wanted to have dinner he would have joined his men or had it alone, not insisted on wasting his time with a curious woman who seemed to think everyone was out to harm her.

He cleared his throat again, this time following the noise up with words, a lazy hand holding his bottle of rum half-poised to his lips. "Now that we're all settled in…what about that treasure?" he slurred, with his dark eyes narrowing at the prospect of gold. He loved it almost as much as his rum!

Instantly, Vivien had let the half-eaten chicken leg drop, a familiar horror snatching up her insides in a tight grip and _squeezing_. Her mind was instantly alert for traps or lies, and she regarded the pirate warily, her eyes trailing hesitantly up to Jack's face where those dark eyes were focused and narrowed at her. And only her. A shiver ran up her spine, not one of pleasure, certainly not, but one of fear. And all over again, the pirate before her was the most terrifying person she ever set eye on, shoving Belfast from her mind with that charming, sly grin. _En garde, Vivien, and be calm_, she reasoned with herself, realizing she was all alone now with no one on her side. No Florette, no Édouard, and certainly no Amaury.

"What of it," she asked, wary of the subject and quite aware with the fact she had lied to him weighing heavy on her shoulders. Maybe it would be the death of her.

Jack rolled his eyes, looking nonchalant. "Well," he started, dragging the word out. "I want to know where it is, of course!" Was his declaration, bottle of rum waving, the liquid sloshing, before he took another gulp and let it warm his insides.

Vivien was silent for a moment. What could happen if she told him where it was? Of course, she didn't _know_ where it was, but he had no idea about that! She could lie quite easily, lead him on a fake trail, but what would happen when he found she was false? Death? Would he abandon her on some island with the sharks surrounding her? Or leave her to Belfield to catch up?

Her thoughts spawned more lies, and she put on a brave face as she answered. "And you think I'm going to tell you, just like that?" she asked coolly, but her legs were trembling even as she sat. "After you've kidnapped me and forced me aboard your ship?"

Sensing her unease like a shark does blood, Jack grinned once again, one of his best. A conniving, sly grin that made every female within sight positively _swoon_ "Aye, I expect that. Or you draw me up a nice little map so's I can see where it is," he replied calmly, and watched as his grin seemed to have no effect on the woman before him. She only seemed to shrink into her seat, further away from him.

Vivien stared at Jack, her mind a whirring maelstrom of excused and emotions. What to say, what to say?

"I-I can't…I won't," she stuttered fervently, and even she cringed at the weakness of her words.

Jack gave her a strange look; a half-smile with eyes narrowed slightly—a calculating expression. "And why not?" he asked after a moment.

"B-Because…" she trailed off slowly. "I don't—I don't know!" She didn't know? What she didn't know was lost of Vivien herself, as she no longer hand any semblance or control over what she was saying. Poor, stupid, petrified Vivien, without a brain in the world and pitted against a weasely pirate captain who looked too good to be evil!

Jack could only groan. "Not this again. I thought we were past this…" he muttered and lifted the bottle to his lips in hopes of drowning out his frustration.

Vivien waited, and then trembled in her seat not unlike a nervous mouse as those eyes were once again staring fixedly at her. _M'aide__, mon Dieu, for the devil himself has come to tempt me, _she thought helplessly.

"Vivien," he spoke, her name lilting on his tongue with the slightest hint of a French accent.

She swallowed nervously, knowing Gibbs must have told his captain her name. She wished fervently he hadn't, but of course he had. He was loyal to this ship and Jack Sparrow.

"Vivien Brideau, daughter of Jacques Brideau and heir to and incredibly large sum of money hidden somewhere off in the Caribbean…that _is_ you, isn't it?" he asked, hands waving while his speech was quick and slurred. They had been through this before…

Timidly, Vivien nodded, for that she could not lie.

Jack smiled, nodding briefly back at her before continuing, "Then, knowing this, you _must_ know where the treasure is, because your dear father thought _you_ the only one privy to this information. Savvy?"

Vivien frowned for a moment at the pirate's knowledge. True, her father had told only her of the treasure—but no one had counted on Dorian Belfast. And of Dorian Belfast, she had no wish to be taken back to Bourbon Island by him and sent back to her prison. But did she want to stay aboard a ship with filthy, murdering pirates?

"I do know," Vivien spoke, and it was only part lie.

Jack felt his good mood being restored and allowed himself to relax back into his chair. "Then you won't have a problem telling me where it is," he stated confidently. Lifting his bottle of rum again, he set his mind on downing the rest—and he was sure he would have if it hadn't been for Vivien's next words.

"But I _won't_ tell you where it is."

Half the rum when the wrong way down his throat while the other half he sprayed out in a choking, coughing fit of surprise. Surely she was jesting! He had almost had it!

Wiping his mouth clear with the sleeve of his off-white shirt and coughing lightly, he glared at the woman. She seemed only mildly pleased with herself. The other three fourths was near fainting on the floor with fear. Coolly, he regarded her. If there was one thing he hated more than being deprived of rum, it was being deprived of his treasure.

"And why not?" he asked with a sneer, seeming to remember asking this before.

_Mais__ oui_, now Vivien was petrified. She could practically feel the hostility and frustration oozing off the pirate captain in great waves. _Think Vivien, think!_ She opened her mouth, but it was several moments after that she actually found her voice to speak.

"Because…the treasure is mine," she retorted.

Jack quirked an eyebrow at her, his face stony. "Ah, you mean it _would_ have been yours if you had found the time to claim it before ole Jack here heard about it," he answered swiftly, leaving no room for argument. Almost.

Vivien jutted her chin out, imagining it made her look bolder. "But it _is_ my treasure, and it will stay that way until I decide to give you the location."

He had to admit he was surprised she had lasted this long arguing over this with him. Women, he knew, were simply not meant to barter or do business. Except for Elizabeth, but she was just plain off, in love with a eunuch and all.

So, knowing this, Jack still had the advantage and he could still have the treasure. Smirking slyly to himself—a look Vivien didn't at all like—Jack snatched up the wine and poured them both a glass full. He then settled himself back down and raised a finger in question, still grinning slyly.

"I'm having a small thought here. How about I make a deal with you, love—"

"_Mademoiselle_ Brideau," she cut him off, not one to fool around with proper titles. She wouldn't have him addressing her like a common woman.

"Vivien," Jack amended, deciding her way was too much of a mouthful. "I propose an accord."

The young woman watched him cautiously as he raised his wine. Her hands stayed in her lap, clutching tight the fabric of the cotton dress with sweaty fingers.

"In agreement," he continued, "_You_ tell _me_ where the treasure is, and upon finding it, _I_ send _you_ five percent of the profits. What do ye say to that, eh?"

Vivien supposed he was waiting for her to disagree and demand fifty-fifty, but that would be certain death for her. She shook her head resolutely, using all her willpower to grind out one word.

"No."

The sly smirk dropped from Jack Sparrow's face and he lowered his wine. "No?" he repeated as though the word was foreign to him.

Vivien stayed silent.

"Why do ye say no?" he asked, almost pleasantly.

She could see his face held no confusion, only silent anger and aggravation. Instead of answering his question, Vivien decided to propose an agreement of her own. After all, now was certainly not the time to play fragile fainting female in front of this dangerous and thoroughly annoyed man. No, no, she had to show what small part of her was strong and clever and make a decision of her own.

"How about this, _Monsieur _Sparrow…" she noticed her mistake when his face darkened even more, but kept to her plan. "I will tell you the location of my father's treasure on agreement of two things."

Jack stared at her a moment, looking positively livid—the type of furious that came with tight lips and narrowed eyes and a silent, unmoving face—before nodding slightly. The beads and trinkets in his hair jingled merrily, the opposite what both parties seemed to be feeling.

Vivien released a deep breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and slowly straightened her back. _Stay calm, Vivien, just stay calm…_she told herself soothingly and bravely fought to meet Jack's smouldering gaze. "One: I am given safe passage to the Caribbean, not dropped off on any deserted islands or in the middle of the ocean," she said, and truthfully, at this moment whether or not she got her father's treasure was of no great concern. Her neck, however, was. "And condition two: I will only tell you the exact spot of my father's treasure at whatever time I feel is adequate. Agreed?"

Now, Jack Sparrow, for as long as he could remember, had _always_ gotten what he wanted. In the process, if it took some self-sacrifice or a few broken bones that was quite all right. But never would he ever be made a fool of in front of his ship and crew. Especially not by some puffed up French woman who didn't even have her head on straight!

Pursing his lips, Jack gave Vivien a shrewd look, his right hand slowly sliding from the table—a movement she didn't see—before he spoke. "You see, love, that's where we come to a small bump in our agreement, ay?" he began, and before she could get a word in edgewise, he continued. "Now, I'm not going to ask why you would want to rather go to the Caribbean than stay here, because frankly I don't care. I want you off my ship as soon as possible, so either we agree to _my_ terms…or I can extract the location of the treasure the hard way, savvy?"

And quite suddenly, there was a pistol aimed at her nose, Jack Sparrow behind it and his thumb ready to cock it. All she could do was stare—or at least until she realized what was happening and found her voice. At least there was no sword this time…

_"You…you're going t-t-to sh-shoot me?" _she squealed, hands clutching the arms of her chair, a tiny part inside her outraged that he could be so offhand about the whole thing.

Jack himself didn't really understand what she was so shocked about. What had she expected? For him to give up willingly? He smiled winningly at her. "Only if I feel I need to, m'dear. And don't worry, we'll start with the feet first, they hurt less than the hands," he explained as if that would make everything better. "So, are you going to tell me where the treasure is so I can drop you off in Madagascar and we can both be on our merry ways, or are you not?"

She simply stared, entranced by the barrel of the pistol stuck on her nose.

Jack's face darkened once more. He clearly didn't understand that when Vivien was afraid, the ability to speak was somewhat robbed from her. So he rolled his eyes and cocked the hammer, looking bored with the whole ordeal.

That small movement sent Vivien into a flurry of motion, as she shot up from her chair—sending it toppling over backwards with a loud crash—and snatched a up rather pathetic butter knife from the table. Brandishing her weapon before her, shaking like a leaf in the breeze, she noticed that Jack, too, had risen to his feet.

"D-don't you come any closer!" she warned, swiping the feeble knife as if it would ward all danger off.

Clearly, Jack saw the humour in the situation, and he felt no hesitation to laugh at the terrified woman. Then, leering at her, he slurred spitefully, "And what do you propose to do with _that_, Vivien?"

She stared at the knife a moment, now looking horrified that she was even holding it, before raising the thing and looking as if to throw it at him.

Making a somewhat frantic noise of warning, Jack aimed his pistol at her feet, hoping the threat would persuade her to at lease abandon the knife so he could approach her. And it worked, as Vivien, never being one to cope with large amounts of stress or fright—as shown many times before—suddenly found the urge to keel over in a dead faint much more appealing that facing the situation at hand.

So, Jack Sparrow watched somewhat helplessly as Vivien's eyes fluttered and her body flopped to the floor of his cabin in the most ungraceful of ways, the knife clattering uselessly to the floor with her. And he simply stared at her a moment, brow furrowed, before slowly lowering his weapon and muttering to one in particular, "I wasn't actually _going_ to shoot her."

**--**

**French Translations: **

Diaboliquement beau brute – devilishly handsome brute ;)

Mon Dieu – my god

S'il vous plait – 'please,' although I'm sure you all knew that!

Au contraire – on the contrary/quite the opposite

Gens effrayants – scary people

L'incident de moineau – the sparrow incident

En garde – 'in keeps,' but it's used before swordfights and as 'be on guard'

M'aide – help me

Mais oui – oh yes

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	10. Work

The Trouble with Women

**Chapter 9**

Work

**--**

The next time Vivien awoke, it was from the feeling of rough hands jarring her body unsympathetically from the depths of sleep. Which wasn't very nice, because the second most thing she was aware of was a splitting headache. It felt fit to burst like some giant bruise that ached and stung. The kind that turns black and blue and all green after you fall out of a tree and feels like someone's punched you when it's been prodded.

And someone seemed to be doing a _whole lot _of prodding.

But despite all these things, the elusive state of being calledsleep was gone and her eyes opened slowly, a feeling of overwhelming grogginess overcoming her senses. Between the headache and the inevitable sleepiness, Vivien probably would have preferred someone bash her over the head with a large blunt object. The effect would be the same but it was likely she would pass out—something that didn't seem to be happening right now. Much to her chagrin.

The Frenchwoman groaned as someone boldly ripped the blankets and sheets from her small cot, leaving her cold and uncomfortable in the morning air.

"Come on, get yer lazy arse up!" a sharp, feminine voice shrilled through the young woman's ears.

Vivien whimpered pitifully, but did not complain. She was too tired to complain. Instead, she flopped over on the small cot and opened her eyes, attempting to focus her vision on the woman who had disturbed her slumber. _Mon Dieu, don't pirates sleep?_

Instantly, she recognized the fierce woman from the day before. The one who had so brazenly threatened her with a sword. The one with the pistol, who had seemed to have such a temper the Captain himself could hardly tame her. The one who had seemed she wanted nothing more than to skewer her on her sword and toss her to the sharks…

Vivien managed a strangled sort of sputtering noise, the kind that usually came with frantic choking or strangulation. It was a common thing for her though, and usually accompanied by chaotic screeching most likely caused by Belfast or one of the poor maids around the manor.

This time, her eyes widened almost comically as the female pirate stared down at her with a look of such distaste the Frenchwoman was sure she would have a heart attack. Then, she did the only thing she could think of—she screamed.

Now, comparing Vivien to most women around the world, her lungs could most likely hold twice the amount of air, which was perfect if someone was trying to drown her. But there was another reason too. Vivien Brideau was and active participant in the art of screaming bloody murder. And once she started it was near impossible to get her to stop until she ran out of air.

Such was the reason Vivien began shrieking like a banshee in the first place. No doubt Jack Sparrow would come running—or even Gibbs—and save her from this barbaric and vicious woman!

Of course, she hadn't counted on one thing. This pirate woman knew _exactly_ how to shut up screaming ladies.

Quite suddenly, Vivien found herself sprawled face-first on the cabin floor with the wind knocked from her lungs as the female pirate dealt her a hefty slap on the back of her head, which sent her head over heels off the side of the narrow cot. It halted her display of screaming, however,and left her with a few bruised ribs as well.

"I'll tolerate no devil's screamin' from ya, witch woman!" the pirate lady shrieked.

Vivien merely moaned, and turned on the floor with a gasping breath of air. Vaguely, she noticed a new addition to her bare room. A mop and bucket in the corner. How considerate of the pirates…

The woman nudged her lightly in the side with her boot as if testing to see if she was still alive. With a pained grimace, Vivien flopped ungracefully onto her back. She noticed that, for some odd reason, she was still wearing her dress, and the skirts were near gathered around her knees. She couldn't for the life of her remember why she hadn't changed into the only other article of clothing she had—her nightgown—for bed.

The pirate was still glaring at her as enlightenment came to Vivien. As if the mere act of thinking about it brought everything back, she remembered all the events of the night before.

_Mais__ oui! L'embarrass! _she mentally moaned, pitying herself. How she had angered Jack! Maybe this woman had been sent to punish her for her _idiotie._

Disturbed by this thought, Vivien glanced up at the woman—who was still glowered at her for all she was worth. Somewhere in the depths of her stomach, a knot twisted painfully and she felt the beginnings of uneasy creep upon her once more.

Still slightly out of breath, she managed to gasp out, "Who…W-what?" Her eyes had landed on the sword strapped dutifully at the woman's hip, and the pistol tucked in her belt.

The female pirate noticed the young woman's gaze and a flicker of a faint smile flitted across her face before she returned to her glower. "Nay, lass, I ain't here to chop you up, no matter how much the idea's appealin' to me," she assured, but this seemed lost on Vivien. "I'm Anamaria, second mate aboard the _Black Pearl_, an' ya best be rememberin' that! Now get your lazy arse off the bloody floor so I can assign ya work!"

Vivien gave her an incredulous look, gaping up at Anamaria.

She glared back, and as the Frenchwoman made no sign of moving from the floor, reached down and took a firm hold on her hair before dragging her up to her feet. Hissing in pain, Vivien was rewarded by a swift shove. She hit the wall with her back, a muffled "_oof_!" escaping her lips.

Anamaria sneered. "I'll tell ya I have permission to shoot you if you don't cooperate, witch!" she spat. "Don't tell me ya thought you would be sailin' this ship for free!"

Feeling rather sick, Vivien raised a finger meekly to interject. "Actually, I was thinking…I was thinking of reasons why I wasn't being thrown overboard…" she managed to choke out, regretting the moment she opened her mouth but waited somewhat bravely for the prevailing blow her comment would get her.

She was quite surprised when Anamaria threw back her head in a sharp, barking laugh, seemingly humoured by the woman.

Vivien fancied she looked rather sick, too, but permitted a small, weak chuckle to escape her lips. The moment that happened, however, Anamaria stopped laughing and fixed her with a sneer. Vivien wished for nothing more than to shrink into the wall and turn invisible…

"Now I know what Sparrow meant when he said you were strange!" she guffawed.

"What…?" Vivien enquired weakly, licking her lips nervously. Cautiously, she unglued her back from the wall.

Anamaria laughed again. "Fought him off with a butter knife, did ya, before fainting dead away when he threatened to shoot you!"

At this comment, Vivien managed to look slightly embarrassed. So, the pig-headed pirate had told his crew of her stupidity? What a way to make an insecure woman feel better about herself.

"Your Captain is a weasley, conniving, cheating pirate who no doubt takes great enjoyment from threatening prisoners!" she belted before she knew what she was doing, and regretted it as Anamaria's face darkened.

"Aye, and he told us ya wouldn't be much trouble 'cause your terrified out of yer wits by him!" she retorted. "I reckon you wouldn't be sayin' nothing of the sort if he could hear ya, eh frechie?"

Vivien was going to open her mouth to respond with some clever comment that would most likely get her shot, but found she was shaking much too hard to form any words. Anamaria was perfectly right, of course. She wouldn't dream of insulting Jack Sparrow while he could hear her. When he was _out_ of earshot, however…well that was completely different!

Anamaria snorted at her, a very unladylike gesture. "Cowards at heart the lot of you are. Say things you wouldn't even think about if Sparrow was near," she growled and glared before nodding swiftly to the mop and bucket in the corner. "Sparrow made it clear you ain't no sailor or pirate, so we set up a list of chores for ya to do while you're aboard—" she stopped short as she noticed Vivien's rather unique expression. "What?"

"T-there was n-nothing in-in our agreement about work!" she managed to say, somewhat outraged by the idea of working on a pirate ship.

Anamaria planted her hands on her hips and jutted her chin out angrily. "Well if ya don't like it ya can take it up with Captain Sparrow, aye? But until then you'll do it because I'm the one with the pistol," she declared offhandedly.

Feeling the measly remains of her entire world come crashing down around her like shattered bits of glass, Vivien had the sudden urge to cry. _Oh mon Dieu,_ she pleaded with her eyes on the ceiling_, why do you torture me so?_

**--**

**French Translations:**

**(not many this time around…)**

Mon Dieu – my god

L'embarass – the emabarrassment

Idiotie – idiocy

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	11. Meet Mr Mop and Mrs Bucket

**The Trouble with Women**

**Chapter 10**

Meet Mr. Mop and Mrs. Bucket

**--**

After convincing herself that doing a bit of cleaning was far better than being shot, possibly being thrown overboard, and subsequently being eaten by ravenous sharks, Vivien had taken up the mop and bucket _almost_ eagerly. Anamaria had led her on deck, winding though the long passageway and up a ladder. The Frenchwoman had yawned the whole way, stumbling wearily, her only protest against being woken so early.

They had emerged into the daylight without crossing a single man's path, which she would have found odd even if she had spent more time aboard a ship. But once they set foot out onto the worn planks of wood forming the quarterdeck Vivien understood why.

Bright morning sunlight beat down upon them, already hot in the somewhat crisp sea air. It glittered upon the translucent surface of the blue water, blinding Vivien for a moment until her eyes got used to the sudden light. The Indian sun was hanging just over the horizon, and already the crew of the _Black Pearl_ was toiling away.

The deck was filled with working men, all pirates, pulling hauling on loose ropes, tugging on pulleys and straightening tangles. Many were tying knots to the side the ship, securing lines to bollards by the edge of the wooden rails. Some were up in the rigging, wrapping cables down tight or securing lines to unfurl sails. Men were up atop the sails, perched upon the main top and calling down, other shouting orders up. There were even men hanging from ropes in mid air, swinging lithely about a hundred feet from the deck with not a care in the world! Vivien watched in awe as the whole crew seemed to work in unison with another, functioning as one great whole, and for a split second she might have caught a glimpse of what the crew themselves saw, what Jack saw. Freedom, maybe, utter freedom and contentment. However, it was gone not long after that.

Truthfully, she found it rather amazing that such a large bunch of brutish men could seem so organized.

Briefly, she glanced up at the helm, but it wasn't Jack who stood there. It was Gibbs, much to her relief.

And almost as if noticing her gaze, Anamaria called up to the portly man, cupping her slender hands around her mouth to be heard over the morning bustle. "Oy, Gibbs, get down here an' give me a hand!" she shouted loudly, causing several of the pirates to look up from their work. But they seemed more interested in their duties. Other than that, Vivien's presence went otherwise unnoticed. Not that she minded. The less attention she received from the men the better.

"Gibbs, ya fat duck! Get your arse down here!"

She had glanced up at the mulatto woman briefly, giving her a curious eye before turning her attention to the kindly Gibbs. He looked slightly disgruntled, maybe not up to the early morning, but heaved a sigh and called up a young sailor from the deck. The man rushed past Vivien and Anamaria without casting either a glance, hurried up to the helm, and took the wheel as Gibbs released his hold. Slowly, the older man made his way down the steps, squinting slightly at the two women.

"What is it you be wantin' now?" he grumbled, stepping down from the stern castle. Almost on a whim, he fumbled around his pockets for a moment before coming back up triumphantly with a metal flask. Taking a short swig from it, let out a sigh of utter satisfaction, replaced the cap and turned his narrowed gaze onto the-out-of-place Frenchwoman.

"Before ya ask, I'm aware Jack was the one who assigned me to little-miss-Frenchie, but I gotbetter things to do, less patience, and a bad memory," Anamaria announced, and Vivien could have sworn she saw the slightest hint of smiles flicker across her face.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at her slightly. "And what do you want me to do about it, eh?" he asked suspiciously.

"You've befriended the woman, haven't you?" Anamaria asked, turning her head slightly to regard the man.

Gibbs took more than a small moment to answer, his eyes on Vivien and an unreadable expression upon her face. That was when, perhaps, Vivien realized something and looked slightly hurt by it. No one, absolutely no one, wanted to be near her—not even pirates! When had she become such a burdensome pest? Or had she always been one? Is that why everyone avoided her, despised her, spoke about her behind their backs, wanted to _maim_ her?

Her sudden display of crestfallen sadness must have caught Gibbs's attention, because the next moment he was speaking, not unkindly.

"I'd call us more o' friendly acquaintances," he said, and it was better than declining.

A slow smile spread over Anamaria's face, one reminiscent of Jack Sparrow himself. The female pirate nodded happily to her comrade. "Then ya won't mind takin' Frenchie here and showin' her all the work and ropes Sparrow's assigned her," she declared, and a sort of strangled look overcame Gibbs's face. "I've no part in makin' this young lass work, Gibbs. Not only do I doubt she can do it, her soft life and livin' won't allow it. She won't last a day, I suspect, and lookit what Jack'll have on his hand then, ah?"

The Frenchwoman frowned at these comments, averting her eyes. What exactly would Jack have her do?

Gibbs hesitated, eyes darting between a smug Anamaria and a distressed Vivien.

The mulatto woman was still waiting…

Relenting with an uneasy shrug, Gibbs nodded. "Aye, that's about it…" he sighed and fixed the female pirate with an irate stare. "But Jack won't be too happy about ye disregarding his orders, lass."

She arched a delicate eyebrow at the first mate. "The man's a fool havin' a woman like her working aboard a ship like this." Gibbs and Anamaria both regarded the young woman for a moment before Anamaria huffed. "Boatswain's duty for two days then," she offered, earning a truly bemused look from Vivien.

Shaking his head, Gibbs replied, "Make it three days of boatswain's duty and you've got yourself a right good deal."

Eyes narrowing, Anamaria planted her hands on her hips. If Gibbs wanted her to barter, she would barter! "_Two _days on boatswain's duty and a wake up call," she retorted.

Vivien watched this, eyes moving back and forth between the two as she clutched her mop and held onto the wooden bucket. Whatever the two pirates were speaking of now it was more or less lost on the young woman. For all she knew they were speaking in some sort of code, trying to pass to responsibility of her off to one another as though she was some inanimate object. This particular thought made her green eyes narrow somewhat. She may be a spineless creature but she had her pride!

"May I ask what's going on?" she interjected quickly, albeit quietly.

Anamaria turned and scowled. "No you may not," she quipped, mocking the young woman.

Vivien frowned. "Why?"

The mulatto woman rolled her eyes. "Frenchie, ya remember that talk we had of guns and such?" she asked in a deathly pleasant voice.

Needless to say, that was enough to quiet Vivien, and she bit her tongue as the two pirates continued to argue.

"Two days boatswain's duty, one wake up call and three days o' rum duty, those are me terms," Gibbs stated firmly.

Anamaria snorted, lips pursed slightly. "A week of wake up calls and two days rum duty isme offer, old man. Don't be taking off more than you can chew!" she shot back, temper rising as well as her voice. The crew went on, oblivious to the two bargaining.

Gibbs glared. "I'm calling the shots, Anamaria! one day of wake up calls, three days rum duty andtwo daysof boatswain's duty you be having yourself a deal, no less!" he jutted his chin out at the woman.

The mulatto woman growled under her breath but forced a tight smile onto her lips. "She's hardly worth it! And I'm only offering my services of two days rum duty, and five days wake up callin'…" she hesitated. "_Plus_ one day of breakfast in bed. Your favorites, too. What d'ya say?"

Gibbs regarded her cautiously a moment before nodding and sticking out his hand for her to shake. "Aye, That'll do it."

She smacked her palm to his and they shook firmly. "Aye."

"Good."

"Aye"

"Fine. Now get rid o' one of those wake up calls and get Jack up outta bed. Tis about an hour past dawn," he instructed. "Then ye can take the helm fromRobert until he gets out here."

Anamaria nodded shortly, looking satisfied, before turning to cast a quick smile at the Frenchwoman. The smile, however, didn't seem all that sincere or pleasant for that matter, and Vivien withered slightly under the woman's dark gaze.

She smirked. "Good luck with the chores, lass, and I mean it. That mop'n bucket will be your only company for a while yet, I imagine," she stated lightly before strolling off to the steps leading down below.

So, Vivien was left with Gibbs, a mop and bucket, feeling about as good about herself if she were a leper. Even then, maybe, she would be treated with a slight smidgeon of respect. Really, the way everyone was acting around her it seemed as though she had some sort of plague only _they_ could decipher. Almost painfully, she bit back the urge to sigh in resignation, instead turning to Gibbs with a small frown. Luckily, he didn't seem too repulsed by her. Maybe slightly edgy, but the maids had been like that all the time.

"Don't mind Anamaria, lass," the portly man attempted some form of comfort, certainly not used to having emotional, eccentric females onboard. "No doubt she'll be more understanding than most the crew. They don't take kindly to the new, not for you to worry o' course. I've a feelin' Anamaria'll take to you for…woman company, aye?" He shrugged at that, not knowing what more to say.

Vivien stood silently by his side, doubting that Anamaria would enjoy the said 'womanly company.' She almost seemed more of a man then Gibbs himself. Taking a deep breath, she allowed her eyes to take in the grand scale of the ship, something she hadn't noticed the night before. And the sails. The sails were black, coupling with the dark wood of the ship to give the place an almost eerie feel. If it hadn't have been for the bright sun she was sure a shiver would have run up her spine. Who knew what sort of vermin ran about the place at night…and in her room!

Gibbs's voice broke through her thoughts. "Louis, Beckham! Get off scrubbin' duty, your free for the rigging! Have the mainsails full and breezy by the time Jack takes up the helm!" he shouted to two scruffy pirates scrubbing the deck on the far side of the ship, towards the bow.

Somewhat tensely, the Frenchwoman watched as the two men stood up, stretching and popping their backs and tossing their brushes into a dirty pail. One man hauled it up as the other wandered quickly away to the rigging, approaching them with what looked to be a permanent sort of sneer. He was of medium build with dark, greasy brown hair and stubble littering his face. _Blue sombre, _dark blue eyes glared out at Vivien from under thick brows.

"So, the witch's on swabbin' duty, eh? Can't be very threatenin' if Sparra managed to ger 'er cleaning these shitty decks!" he spat, and large, discoloured glob of mucus landed on the deck just inches from her bare feet. "Though I'm sure she's better uses than cleanin', aye? Are ye warmin' the Cap'n's bed yet, I wonder?" He smirked toothily at the young woman, who seemed to shrink slightly, loosing her height and confidence.

Stepping in, Gibbs fixed the pirate with a squinted glare. "Best be on your way, Mr. Beckham, afore I assign ye extra cleanin' duties and Miss Vivien here can be the one to watch ye break your back," he warned the man lowly.

Beckham glared a moment. "Yew canna do that, Gibbs. I don't 'member ye bein' appointed cap'n," he retorted snottily, and fixed the man with a scowl. Underneath, though, Vivien could see he was somewhat uncertain.

"Aye, I ain't captain, but quarter-masters good enough. I'm sure Jack'll like to know you've been gobbin' up the deck with your spit and harassin' his only lead to the treasure, though. Miss Vivien can make ye a rich man, Beckham, but if you take on this way I'm sure she be the one complaining to Jack herself. And then where would that leave you?"

The two men seemed to have some sort of staring competition going on, and Vivien could only watch with her shoulders stiff and back tense. She had the feeling this wasn't the first confrontation between the two. They seemed to grate on each other's nerves like nothing else. What she could only hope was that this would be the first and last time it would happen in front of her. If fists suddenly started flying, she wanted to be anywhere but near the two. She could feel her knees weakening with fear at the glimpse of anger in both men's eyes and faces.

Finally, Beckham was the one to step down, hesitant to tempt Gibbs too much at the thought of Jack getting involved. Shortly, he nodded to the spot of mucus on the deck. "Best clean that up, witch," he said, almost an order, and then he was gone.

A long, heavy breath was released from Gibbs's lungs in a great sigh as the younger pirate left. Vivien, too, felt her shoulders sag, and she leaned on the mop to support her weakened legs. Catching onto her unease, Gibbs nodded to Beckham as he disappeared down below, taking the bucket with him.

"That bloke's damn lucky Jack didn't see him spitting all over the deck. The Captain doesn't tolerate dirtying up of his ship," he said shortly, shaking his head.

Nodding slightly, Vivien's eyes turned out to the sea. "_Il__ n'a pas—me pardonne…_he didn't seem too happy with me…" she murmured quietly, still slightly shaken.

"Beckham be unhappy with everyone, miss. Don't worry your head over it, or his name callin'. He just don't take kindly to strangers is all," Gibbs assured her, but it did nothing to ease her nerves.

Then, in but a moment, Gibbs's mood had turned around, and he was smiling kindly at her, only the smallest hint of uneasiness in his face. Clearly, he hadn't gotten over her being bad luck…

"It's best we get you working before Jack gets on deck. He'll be in a right bad mood after last night." He muttered to last part more to himself than anything.

Vivien felt her stomach clench again in fear. For a moment, she considered not asking what he meant by those last words, but in the end curiosity won her over. That and the fact she wanted to know what exactly fate had in store for her. And if Jack still was upset about her defiance the night before she might as well curl up into a small ball and shrivel into nothingness. It would save her from the rough waves to come.

"_Monsieur _Gibbs…what exactly….do you mean by 'after last night?'" she questioned tentatively, wary of the answer. _S'il_ _vous plaît, don't let his bad mood be because of me and my endless stupidity, mon Dieu…_she pleaded most pathetically to the heavens. However, her dear lord seemed to have neglected her individual lately.

"Eh?" Gibbs questioned, staring at her face, which now looked as though some invisible force was strangling her to death. Then it dawned upon him, more or less. "Oh…Jack! Well, ye see, Jack had a sort of celebration gatherin' on a plan gone well—or had—but still worked out in the end, ye see? That be capturin' your lovely self. And whenever he has these little things he always has a bit too much rum…this was after you fainted dead away in his cabin, mind you. But once he's had so much rum he usually ends up passed out on deck or completely sloshed on the floor in his quarters, so he'll be havin' a wicked sort of headache this morning."

Lips forming a silent 'o,' Vivien finally understood. Well, the man had already seemed quite drunk when she had spoken to him, so it couldn't have taken much more to knock him out. And although she was quite glad he wasn't going to be in a bad mood merely because she had refused his offer, but a hangover would most likely make him twice as irritable. She'd had enough experience with Belfast the morning after he went to the local taverns to know this. Quite suddenly she was feeling terrified all over again, and Gibbs did not seem to notice this time.

"Now, let's get his all straightened out," the portly man was muttering to himself. He turned to Vivien and beckoned her to follow him to the edge of the ship. She did, with the mop and bucket, and he pointed out a long line secured to the edge of the ship by a pulley and a wooden pin.

"You see this? Well, when you're scrubbin' the deck you'll want to tie your bucket to this, toss it over and then haul it back up by the pulley with clean seawater. We can't afford using any of the fresh stuff on something so dirty as the deck," he explained, and Vivien nodded slightly, preferring to keep silent.

Truthfully, she wasn't too keen on the idea of getting too close to the edge of the ship, but she wouldn't complain. If there was one thing so far that she had learned it was not to complain. Anamaria had taught her that with that pistol of hers, and the Frenchwoman wasn't eager to see it again.

"You'll be swabbin' the top deck first, till near noon. At that time you'll be down in the galley washing the dishes from lunch. Brill, the cook, will help ye with that. Then you'll be moving onto the cabins down below. Give them a quick clean and wash out the crew's quarters, an' be careful not to touch anything that's there's and I reckon you'll be just fine—" at this point Vivien's face paled somewhat, "—You can finish with the hold and the bilge, clean the brig last. Find Anamaria or meself if ye don't know where that be, as I expect ye don't. Be up in the galley to wash supper's dishes and you'll be done for the day, lass. Unless, of course, Jack be wantin' you to do a bit more. I hope not. Though very particular about his ship, he be. And I can't say he'll be in a right good mood…" Gibbs trailed off with a somewhat sympathetic smile, and Vivien's brow knotted, but she preferred not to open her mouth.

"What's this about meself not being in a good mood today, ay?" another voice cut in. A very familiar other voice.

Gibbs and Vivien both whirled around to face none other than Jack Sparrow himself, looking chipper than ever and quite curious, dark eyes narrowed slightly. Staying silent, the young woman avoided his gaze and left Gibbs to answer.

"Cap'n! Startled me there! Just showin' Miss Vivien here her work for today…I was expecting ye to be still asleep considerin' you managed near one barrel last night!" he exclaimed, eluding the man's question.

"Did I?" he slurred distantly, swaying on his feet, and neither of them missed the pirate captain's small wince at the volume of Gibbs's voice.

Immediately, the first mate apologized. "Sorry sir, didn't me t'be too loud."

Jack waved him off, one clutching his head as if holding his hat on and his eyes squinting slightly in the weak morning sun. "No worries, mate," he assured, and glanced around the working deck. "Bit bright out today, eh?"

Vivien and Gibbs exchanged a short look, eyebrows raised, before the first mate nodded slowly to his captain. "Aye, that it is, sir."

"Thought so," Jack mumbled, and then focused his attention on the two. "That's odd…I distinctly 'member telling Anamaria to show the lass around…"

Gibbs managed to look genuinely surprised. "Did you?" he exclaimed. "'Fraid she's been at the helm all morning, sir." Their eyes turned to the proud woman where she stood keeping course.

Frowning, Jack held up a finger to pose a thought. "Except when she took the time to screech good mornin' outside my door. I always thought you were the one to do that…" he said, clearly confused and swaying gently on his feet, both likely effects of his hangover.

Looking thoughtful a moment, the first mate concluded, "She was feeling generous this morn', Cap'n," he amended.

And that answer seemed good enough, because Jack made a sound of understanding, nodding slightly with a distant look upon his face. Then, they both watched as his eyes narrowed considerably, and his focus was suddenly on Vivien—dark and sharp.

"And our lovely guest has finally awoken, has she?" He grinned, and before anyone could get a word in edgewise, he had continued swiftly. "Gibbs, if you've shown the lass her work I'd very much like some time to speak to her, _alone_, if you don't mind," the pirate announced cheerily once more.

Gibbs nodded quickly. "Aye, Jack. I'll be on my way then."

And then, quite suddenly, Vivien was left alone—or in the relative company of no one but Captain Jack Sparrow once more. That mere thought was quite enough to make her unease. Already she could feel anxiousness creeping along her insides, and she had to force it away to even look him eye to eye. Which was a hard enough task in itself, anyhow!

Slowly, she turned to face him fully and stuck her chin out in the air in much the same way Anamaria could. "And…what do you wish to speak to me about, Captain Sparrow?" she asked politely, distantly, calmly, maybe hoping that if she managed to weasel her way over to his good side he would go easy on her for angering him last night.

Jack, on the other hand, found her display—her in a whole, really—a source of unending amusement. Her curious mannerisms were enough without her fright for him, and he wondered why she was so scared of him in the first place. Besides the obvious reasons, of course. He didn't find himself all too threatening, at least not to women, and he had managed quite well to keep his impatience and temper in check around her. Except for the night before, of course, but he had been drinking quite a bit of rum before she had come to him. And that brought him to current matters.

"No need to strut about like a peacock to impress, darling. I only wish to speak with on friendly terms. Offer a sort of truce as well as a small thought I've been having concerning our agreements that ended so abruptly last night—" He watched as her face seemed to drain of colour and quickly amended his mistake, flapping his hand comically."—Which will include no guns, threats, swords, daggers, violence, throwing of heavy objects or all around general discrepancy, alright?" he asked, and grinned charmingly at her, almost hoping his nonchalance would melt her stiff exterior. "What do ye say, eh?"

Swallowing, Vivien eyed him warily. This had been the exact moment she had been dreading ever since she had been woken this morning. But she had somehow known he wouldn't give up until he got exactly what he wanted, so there was no stopping it, really. So she nodded, albeit slowly and somewhat hesitantly. Nevertheless, it was a sign for him to continue.

And he did. "Wonderful," he exclaimed flamboyantly, his active hands waving about once more. "Now that I have your full attention I would just to ask if you still had any hard feelings from last night. Really, I'd like to get it all past us and move on in this…_relationship_, so to speak."

The Frenchwoman regarded him oddly a moment. This man, this _pirate_, wanted her to forgive him _pour_ _menacant_, _dupant_, _trichant_ and nearly shooting her the night before? Not likely! In fact, as long as she was prisoner aboard this ship, forced to scrub decks, for goodness sakes, she would _not_ forgive him!

"You nearly shot me in the foot," she reminded him indignantly, and pursed her lips, brow furrowed. She resisted the urge to plant her hands on her hips and scowl.

Jack opened his mouth, one eyebrow curving down in displeasure. Silently, he regarded the woman before him for a long moment, the way her large green eyes were staring perplexedly up at him, waiting for some sort of apology maybe, a promise he wouldn't do it again. Well, he certainly couldn't promise a thing like that, it was rather like asking her not to brain someone with that mop of hers if they snuck up behind her, whichhe had a feeling she would. But he was trying to make a truce, wasn't he? Trying to get the woman to open up, maybe even tell him where the treasure was. Maybe even wooing her would help, and he had to start somewhere.

That notorious finger was once again raised, now pointed at her slightly, and he planted his other hand on his hip. "Aye, I did…" he started admitted rather shamelessly. "But _you_ almost stuck me with a butter knife."

_Was that supposed to be un rappel coupable, je me demande?_ Vivien pondered to herself, displeased. Her eyes narrowed somewhat, her inner backbone coming into play, as it seemed to be doing more often now. "That hardly compares to pointing a loaded gun at someone and threatening to shoot their feet off, among othervaluable parts of the human body!" she exclaimed.

Jack couldn't contain the grin. So, the timid little woman did have a sharp tongue, but only used it when she wanted to, and even then he was sure she didn't actually notice.

"How about this then, darling. You stop trying to cause me bodily harm and I'll stop threatening you with me gun," he offered, beaming, planting a hand on the wooden railway and leaning causally against the side of his ship.

"What about your sword?" Vivien had demanded before she thought.

This time, he couldn't resist a chuckle. "Aye, and my cutlass won't touch you, savvy?"

"S-savvy," she nodded, rather surprised at how well that had gone.

"Savvy," Jack echoed happily, and straightened up once more. "Follow me to the helm then, love. My mind is clearer when I have the _Pearl _'neath me hands. And, there are some matters I prefer to keep from my crew," he said, and promptly whirled on his heel, dreadlocks, beads and braids flying—as well as his coat—before swaggering off towards the helm.

Blinking, as it had happened so fast, she merely watched him walk off, making no move to follow. Her eyes, quite unfortunately, were stuck on the hypnotic sway of his hips. _Bon Dieu! _she exclaimed mentally, almost horrified. What a sight to behold! It was safe to say she hadn't actually noticed how hypnotic the man was in whole, like a cobra, swaying to confuse its enemies before lunging in for the strike!

Then, as if he had read her very thoughts or sensed her gaze, Jack turned once more, satisfied smile lighting up his face so it practically glowed. _Avec_ _arrogance et confiance_, she might add. And he crooked a finger at her, grinning lazily, and called back to her.

"Come along, dear, we have all day! And bring Mr. Mop and Mrs. Bucket too, if you'd like!"

Somewhat mollified, Vivien's face coloured up. But she followed him nonetheless, and she found herself at the heart of the _Black Pearl_, standing as Jack's side as he took the helm from Anamaria and she excused herself for work. Here, the young woman noticed, the ocean wind was much stronger and cooler, and she had to fight the urge to let her eyes drift shut and bask in the Indian sun's warmth while breathing deep the saltyfresh air. It was nothing like her manor, which held stale air littered with perfumes and scents from the kitchen.

His voice interrupted her thoughts. "Now, I did a bit of thinking last night and I came to a conclusion about our previous agreement," he started, absently stroking the wooden wheel with his fingers. Vivien's eyes were drawn to the silver ring on his right hand, as it glittered in the sunlight, and she nodded slightly for him to continue. "It's occurred to me that I could have very well shot you in order to acquire the location to your father's treasure—that wasn't a threat, darling—but I can't very well do that now, can I? Besides, every time I've pulled a bloody gun on you, you've fainted," he turned to grin at her, but found her face blanched somewhat. He frowned.

Vivien stared, blinking slightly with unease. "What?"

"Bit squeamish, aren't you?" he declared, and Vivien swallowed. "I already said I wasn't going to harm you, love."

"Right," she replied, eyes averted.

"Aye. Now, with that in mind, I offer you an accord. I'll agree to your previous state of affairs on the on the conditions of a few small, rather _insignificant_ things," he said, hands waving. "I'm quite ready to accept your terms but I feel the need to inject my thoughts."

She wondered briefly what he was up to now, but nodded anyways, much against her good will.

Jack watched her face closely, once again distracted by her green eyes and the small bridge of freckles running along the top of her cheeks. Freckles, he had always had a bit of a fetish for freckled women, what with all the wenches with their porcelain skin, painted so thick it was hard to tell what coloured skin they had in the first place. A freckled woman was rare in the Caribbean, however, or in a sunny climate at all. Many preferred to stay inside.

For a moment, Jack thought it odd that this woman before him could have so many traits he preferred in his lovers but had the personality of an eccentric donkey. That was how he would describe it, anyway. Then again, Jack Sparrow had always been a bit off.

Tearing his thoughts away from Vivien he cleared his throat before continuing. "Now, I'll take you to the Caribbean, love, and I won't drop you off along the way, but the trip won't be free. I believe that's why you've recently befriended a mop and bucket. In exchange for me taking you safely to the Caribbean on my ship, you'll take up work and until I release you become a sort of…part time member of me crew. Savvy so far?" he asked, his chocolate eyes focused on Vivien.

She considered it all a moment before figuring she didn't really have a choice. She had already gotten herself into enough trouble already, so there was no need to argue with Jack and make her situation worse. Nodding, she spoke. "Alright. I'll agree as long as my work doesn't span the whole day or involve high heights," she explained, reminding herself at the last minute that she was terrified of heights and therefore wouldn't be well equipped to climb the rigging or loosen the sails.

He laughed at that, just because she seemed so insistent on it, and then grinned. "Aye. Now, I believe I only have one other discrepancy with your proposition, that being the bit about the treasure."

_Ceil, pitié moi_… Vivien wetted her lips nervously, but otherwise tried to put on a façade that she wasn't the least bit bothered by this new development.

Jack was watching her like a hawk. "Now, as much as I want to know, I can't very well force you to tell me. So I'll make due with waiting."

Vivien looked as if to say something, but he interrupted her quite quickly. Nothing came in between him and his treasure and she was already quite close. "Hear me out, darling. I only request that you tell the exact spot, draw up a map, write out some directions, et cetera, upon our stop in Tortuga. That's all."

"Tortuga?" Vivien echoed uncertainly, eyeing him.

He only smiled distantly, as if recalling something great. "Tortuga, best town in all the Caribbean, love, but that that can be told another time, eh? Do we have an accord or not?" he pressed anxiously, a fire alight in his eyes.

She once again realized that she couldn't do much more in the way of evading the topic of treasure, so she nodded her assent. There was a good month's sailing to the Caribbean, enough time ahead of her to think of an escape plan. She just needed to take her time and keep calm.

"Splendid!" Jack cried happily in that odd manner of his.

He stuck out his hand for her to shake, and she regarded it warily. Rough and covered with dark spots of what looked to be grease, she wasn't sure she wanted to touch him. But she did, steeling herself and lowering the mop to the deck to clasp his hand in her own slender fingers. She felt an odd sort of thrill run through her from head to toes, tingling along her spine, and oddly enough, she found herself staring up at Jack Sparrow quite boldly.

For a moment, she wondered for a moment just exactly what this strange man thought of her. What was in his thoughts when he stared at her so, with his dark eyes that glittered mysteriously in the sun? What did he refer her as when she was not there? A boneless coward, perhaps? Did he think her a gutless, pathetic Frenchwoman unworthy to be aboard his ship? Since he seemed too eager to have her off that could be so. Or did he see her as just another lady? A mere woman in his eyes, no different from the rest, a faceless commodity and a burden he wanted to be rid of? A girl, perhaps? A frightened girl with no place to go? A confused soul? A tormented mind? A lead to a fortune?

Or herself? Did he see her face with her name? Her feelings as a living, breathing human being? Goodness knows he was more perceptive than he seemed. She could see that. He had proven it a few times yet.

Or was he himself just another cruel, heartless pirate, nothing like her father whom she had never met?

Was she being deceived? Her personality wasn't the brightest. Her mind wasn't too keen. How would she ever know behind that odd grin of his? The one he sported even now as they shook hands. She hadn't a clue what he was thinking, and it bothered her greatly.

If you asked, Vivien wouldn't be able to say how long they had held each other's gaze in a silent sort of standoff. How long she had managed to keep her back straight and not cower from the powerful soul before her. Time only came back to her when his long fingers slipped from hers and their deal had been confirmed.

And that was that. Her fate was sealed.

Jack grinned, showing off his few gold teeth. He regarded her a brief second, watching as her eyes slowly ran to the horizon ahead of his ship and recalled her green eyes as they had stared into his. She bore her soul with her eyes, that was for sure. He could see every emotion written across her face like a quill dances along parchment. And for a moment, he swore she actually had a will for something below her odd exterior! And a few secrets of her own.

Oh yes, as he had thought before, having Miss Vivien Brideau aboard was going to be infinitely entertaining.

**--**

**Translations:**

Blue sombre – dark blue

Il n'est pas—me pardonner – He isn't—pardon me

Menacant – menacing

Dupant - cheating

Trichant– swindling

Un rappel coupable, je me demande – a guilty reminder, I wonder

Bon Dieu – good god

Avec arrogance and confiance – with arrogance and confidence

Ceil, pitié moi – Heaven, pity me

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	12. Sunburn

**The Trouble with Women**

**Chapter 11**

Sunburn

**--**

Vivien hated to admit it, but swabbing decks was much more difficult than she had previously thought. Not only was it time consuming, but it also took more effort than she'd imagined. And the longer it took the more time she was under the merciless Indian son. _And _the longer she was under said roasting hot sun, the more freckles she acquired. That as well as something she had come to know and dread—the sunburn.

_Oui_, _l'hâle_

A positively dreadful, not to mention painful, effect caused by too much exposure to the very thing that kept the world alive and warm. Vivien, however, was quite certain she could do quite fine without it. Her soft, pampered, relatively fair skin marred by permanent freckles was used to anything but the sun's hot rays. When a woman such as herself was mixed with something as giving, powerful, and relentless as the sun…the results were unfavourable.

Now, Vivien had managed to scrub clean half of the quarterdeck and the forecastle, and she was quite sure it was past noon. She wasn't stupid, no. The sun had long since passed overhead, beating a wave of constant heat down into the crown of her head. Yes, she had cleaned half the quarterdeck and was now sure the reason it was taking so bloody long was because of Jack's faithful crew.

The pirates had resolved to stomp over her shining work with dirty boots and grimy bare feet, tossing food about carelessly and lounging about as to stop her from completing her work. Thankfully, if Jack saw this he went into a sort of fit that had his arms flailing madly and him nearly toppling off balance as he shouting in an incomprehensible way.

Strangely enough, not one had approached her. Instead, they were content to glare and spit nasty words at her as she passed them by with her mop and bucket, hair disheveled and sweating beneath her cotton dress. The result of this endless torture was a hideous apparition known as "_Vivien aggravé." _This side of Vivien was rarely ever seen. She went about slopping water and muttering angrily under her breath while stomping about--before she was fixed with an angry stare from a crewmember, mind you. Nonetheless,it was a great change from the submissive, timid and cowardly young woman who had been brought aboard three days before, limp and unconscious.

_This_ Frenchwoman had an unfavourable bridge of orange-brown spots called _taches__ de rousseur hideux _running along the top of her cheeks and nose. This Frenchwoman, where her skin had been pale and white, had a nasty red tinge to her flesh named _hâle__ condamnable_. This Frenchwoman, who had spent so much time clutching a mop as she would when strangling someone by the neck, had rubbed her palms and fingers raw with blisters. This Frenchwoman, who was used to having her hair curled and primped in the morning, now sported an unkempt and knotted brown wig resembling nothing less than a rat's nest. _This _Frenchwoman was not longer regal nor well-mannered, but a lowly woman of a pirate crew, kidnapped and forced to work, lying for her life. And in this new and strange place the total number of butlers and maids back in her manor was anything but impressive.

She was anything but the woman of three days before.

Vivien straightened her back awkwardly, painfully stretching out the kinks and knots that had built in her spine and muscles while she stood hunched over a mop or on her hands and knees scrubbing the deck with brushes. The sun was still taunting her, she noticed, and she saw even the tops of her hands were sporting a sunburn dotted with tiny freckles.

Snorting with disgust, she took a moment to lean on her mop and rest her eyes. Never would she be used to waking up this early, especially not every day!

Her work had brought her to the edge of the ship where the sea winds ran wild, cooling the layer of sweat and dirt accumulating on her forehead and exposed skin. Her arms were aching terribly, and her bare feet were prickly with stinging splinters as well as protesting for being used so long with aches and shooting pains. And her back, her back felt as though it would never again be straight! But she wouldn't complain. _Je__ ne peux pas…_she told herself bitterly, for she had settled an agreement with Jack Sparrow, and no doubt the sneaky man had gotten the better end of the bargain!

Letting loose a heavy sigh, she told herself once she went back to work she would _not_ redo the sections of the ship Jack's crew had so kindly mucked up for her to clean again. She would give it a small, quick wash before heading up the fore castle and helm where Jack himself stood sailing his beloved and wash that too. Then, maybe, if she could find her voice, she would perhaps ask if he had given her maybe _too _much work, and maybe, just maybe, he would take pity upon her burnt and tattered person and relieve her of her duties for rest of the day. After all, she still had two more decks to clean…_as well as the dirty dishes in the galley,_ she reminded herself.

Jack seemed a fair man once she got to know him a bit better…a pirate for sure but a relatively fair man…

_Pas vraiment, _she almost laughed.

A shadow fell over Vivien's closed eyes, and since she was quite sure the sun had not so suddenly set over the horizon and let her be, she had to figure someone was standing before her. And she was supposed to be working…

She opened her eyes quickly, snapping to attention and nearly loosing her footing as well as tripping on mop. Her startled green eyes fell on Anamaria.

"Gibbs and meself have been wondering as to why ya've stopped swabbin' the deck, missy. And why there be a large stack of dishes waitin' to be cleaned in the galley but no one seems to be at it," she spoke calmly, hands planted firmly upon her hips and a calculating looked upon her dark face.

Briefly, Vivien's eyes darted around the deck in search of Gibbs, but instead found much of the crew—including one odd man hanging upside down from the sails—watching them with sneers and smirks, nudging each other and though there was some big joke going on that only she didn't know. She spotted Gibbs at the helm with Jack, conversing lightly, and their eyes only drifted over to Anamaria and herself once. Facing the female pirate now, Vivien came up with a suitable reply.

"I-I haven't been able to finish the deck yet," she stuttered rather softly, not wanting to rouse the mulatto woman's temper. It was strange how she seemed to melt under the fierce woman's stare.

Anamaria cocked an eyebrow at her and turned slightly to regard the deck. "Lass, compared to any of the men here, not only have you scrubbed this deck twice as clean as any of 'em ever could, you've also taken twice as long to do it," she stated, suppressing a small smirk.

At this, Vivien frowned, brow knotting. "It was terribly dirty…and Gibbs said to clean it, so I did…" she said in her defense

It was nothing less than a rueful smile gracing Anamaria's face now. "Aye. But around here cleanin' somethin' means dashing it with water and letting it dry by the sun. You've gone and scrubbed the whole thing clean twice over now, and it's no use—as ya might have noticed by now."

_Oh, yes_, Vivien thought. She knew exactly what the woman meant. The deck seemed to attract dirt, partly thanks to the inconsiderate crew, and no matter how much she when at it with a mop it just dirtied itself in half the time she took to clean it. The young woman regarded Anamaria silently for a moment before nodding sagely.

The mulatto woman nodded back, her long dark hair whipping around slightly in the warm breeze. "Good. Now, I have nothing 'gainst some good old fashion hard work and cleanin', but on this hunk of driftwood it ain't gonna get you nowhere. And that pile of dishes is still waiting, so I suggest ya scrub 'em off before coming back up to the quarterdeck and finishing the job," she explained rather patiently considering her mood that very morning.

Vivien decided right there that the female pirate just wasn't a very pleasant morning person. She nodded dutifully nonetheless, however. Now was not the time to get on Anamaria's bad side—her day was already at its worst.

"It'll do you some good to get out of the sun for a bit, too, I imagine," Anamaria added, eyeing Vivien with a hint of humour. As she turned to leave the Frenchwoman's voice stopped her progress.

"Ahh…Anamaria…?" Vivien's small, hesitant voice came.

She turned with a sigh, and expectant look upon her face. "Aye?" she demanded.

"Where…_exactly,_ is the…um…the galley?"

After that moment, Vivien's day didn't seem quite so bad as it was. Anamaria and herself had come to some sort of odd truce in a conflict neither of them had really started. Vivien was shown the galley—Anamaria had told her she would give the woman a quick tour of the ship so she wouldn't become lost—but only once, she had been warned. The older woman was no guide nor a friend, she had made that quite clear. She was a pirate on a pirate ship and anything she ordered Vivien to do, she would. At Jack's consent, of course.

So, the young Frenchwoman cleaned all the dishes in the galley—alone, not evenvisited by the cook—dipping them in a barrel of water and scrubbing them all clean of the goopy mess that coated them with a scruffy cloth. She had wondered what had happened to the feast Jack had stolen from her manor, but let the thought slip aside without much consideration. She didn't really care.

And when she was done she dried her pruned, burned and raw hands before snatching two apples from a storage barrel in the corner of the galley. One she ate like a ravenous wolf before emerging on deck. And the second she took to with less ferocity, savoring the sweet taste. After all, the last thing she had eaten had been dinner the night before, a _very_ long time ago by her standards.

Vivien found her mop and bucket once more, refilling the bucket before finishing her work. This time, however, she hesitated, her eyes darting up to the helm where Jack had stood the whole day, gaze nearly always focused on the far horizon as though he was watching for something. Waiting for something.

Instead of finishing the quarterdeck she made her way up to the helm, something on her mind that she intended to clear up. And Jack Sparrow was the only one who could help her.

"Come to visit ole Jack, have ye?" he greeted her offhandedly as she plunked the bucket on the stern with a loud _clomp_.

Vivien plunged the mop into the bucket and slopped it messily onto the wood at her feet, earning an odd glance from the pirate captain. She ignored the look. "I've come to speak with you," she corrected, keeping her eyes carefully averted to the deck as she began to sweep the sopping wet mop about her feet.

At this, Jack turned to the woman with his lips pursed slightly, one hand still safe on the large wheel before him. He watched her for a moment, kohl-lined eyes focused on her bowed head. He had noticed how she did that when speaking to him, unless she was feeling bold, of course. A truly odd habit, indeed…How did she ever expect grow a backbone if she shrunk from everyone's gaze?

"That's nice," he declared with a drawl. "But we're speaking right now, aren't we?"

Vivien continued to mop up the dirt that had accumulated along the wooden planks, not pausing once in her actions despite the ache and strain in her arms. "Well, yes…I suppose so," she started, and was going to say more—namely what was on her mind—when she was cut short.

"Ah, good. Then you won't mind telling me why you haven't finished swabbing the top deck, haven't started on the cabins and aren't even near cleaning the hold yet, hmm?" he spoke with that oddly slurred speech of his, one eyebrow arched into his red bandana.

She paused in her work. "A-actually, Captain…Sparrow, I was going to ask you something along those lines," she said hurriedly, butafterwardsknew it would do no good.

"What about, then, I wonder?" he questioned her.. "Don't tell me this is about your work because I intend on keeping entirely true to my end of the bargain."

Vivien cursed mentally, something she would never do aloud, and immersing the mop back into the bucket. Then, she almost hesitantly glanced up at Jack as she spoke. "Well…not really. But now that I think of it—"

Jack was grinning devilishly at her, a finger raised and a tsking noise on his tongue. "Unless you want to find yourself dropped off someplace remote and devoid of life, I wouldn't say another word, darling," he warned her playfully, yet she could hear the danger in his tone.

She supposed her face paled considerably, because the next moment Jack was squinting oddly at her.

"Got a tad bit of a sunburn, do you?" he asked, sounding mildly surprised, but then rebuked on that remark. "That goes to show what the easy life does to you, love." He spoke with a bit of a smirk, and Vivien's brow furrowed indignantly, her chin jutting, at which he merely shrugged innocently. "It'll get worse before it gets better, I'll tell ye that. But no worries. Once it's peeled you'll probably never burn again—have a nice strong tan like meself, aye?"

Vivien fell silent, not quite liking the Captain's show of indifference towards her. Maybe he wasn't as good a man as she had thought? _Non, _she told herself firmly, _you stand up to him now and get it all off your chest! Stop being a coward, Vivien!_ And there was that nagging, foolish curiosity in the back of her mind, and she had to satisfy is lest she go crazy.

So she did, minus the marching bit and feeling quite nervous, if not vulnerable. She supposed asking questions just wasn't in her nature.

"_Mons_—Captain Sparrow…may I ask you another question?" she spoke, clutching the mop tightly in her hands.

Jack turned an inquisitive look upon her, a confused sort of smile on his face. "What is it now?"

Deciding not to point out how rude he was being, as that would most likely end with her skulking while sitting midst the grimy water in the brig, she paused. It took her a moment to gather her voice. And once said voice was gathered, she managed to speak. "_Vous êtes…_I mean, are you or are you not going to leave me in Madagascar…b-because I have a sneaking suspicion that you're considering doing so…" she said, and once it was out she realized how incredibly stupid it sounded.

Apparently, Jack thought so too, for he took the time to tear his dark eyes from the horizon to giver a positively lazy grin, laced with amusement and mocking. "That's the reason you came to speak with me, then? Why, I wonder…don't tell me you _want_ to be left behind in ole Maddy? After all the trouble your dear self is going through to keep that treasure from me?" he slurred, raising his eyebrows at her. "If so, it pains me to tell you that you won't be leaving anytime soon. As much as I want you off my ship, darling, I don't plan on letting you go anywhere until I know I can find your dear Da's treasure without you. That is, unless you've changed your mind about the whole thing now?" He added the last part almost hopefully.

_Fait attention, _she told herself, staring at him warily with her eyes narrowed, _you don't want to go back to __Belfast__, do you?_

"No," she answered simply, by now realizing that long thought out explanations and meaningful sentences didn't work around a man she found so imposing. _Not to mention sly, smelly, rude, violent, positively striking…_

Jack's voice cut her from her thoughts, and she had to fight down a blush as she realized the curve of her thoughts.

"That's a shame, love. I was rather hoping to have you off with the locals of St. Marie," he sighed in disappointment as if forgetting she was standing beside him and watched her reaction closely. Of course, it was only a bit of joke. Sort of. As much as he would love to have a woman besides Anamaria on board, he was afraid Vivien might not be the right one. She didn't seem the kind to have too much fun, which was a shame, really. A complete shame.

"What was that?" he asked suddenly, realizing that she had spoken.

"Captain Sparrow?" she questioned, cocking her head slightly with a tone that made it clear she was wondering if he was all there.

Of course he was! "Yes?" he asked, irritated, and then watched as she bit her lower lip, hesitating and contemplating maybe if her next words were not wanted.

"Where is…St. Marie?" she questioned him quietly, as if her asking would cause him to lose his temper.

_Bloody Christ! _he mentally swore, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.Did this woman think he was going to toss her overboard if she asked him a simple question? It was blood madness! He couldn't help but wonder how she had been raised, if she had been beaten as child or if she was just naturally deranged.

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he focused his thoughts on St. Marie. He decided to give her a full description, a speech, to see if he could entice any sort of reaction from her other than fear, disgust, confusion or surprise. Sadly, those seemed to be the only emotions she was capable of, and he, oddly enough, found himself wanting to help the poor, pitiful woman. _I gather she's never tasted rum, either._

"Ah, L'île St. Marie, a wonderful bit of rock just off Madagascar's northeastern side," he began with flourish, and continued with various hand gestures as if trying to explain it's splendor without words. "The world wouldn't be the same without it, I imagine. A place fit for a man such as meself. A rogue's paradise, the only rules are that there are none—except that there's never to be a shortage of drinks and the navy ain't invited. Can't say for meself if they know of the place, and if they don't I assure you they never will." He spoke with a mad grin on his face now, lilting his words cheerfully as if stuck in a pleasant memory. "St. Marie is a buccaneer's playground, darling, and a corsair's finest castle. A place of defense! A pirate's kingdom built on a small island, ye see? Fit only for the more colourful gents of society and full near to the very beaches with gold." Turning, beads clinging softly, he fixed the Frenchwoman with a smile that showed every one of his gold teeth. "In short, tis a lawless place filled with lawless people and bursting with lawless activities—piracy most prominent among them. Second most only to Tortuga. And certainly not a place a woman such as yourself could ever have head of or ever hoped to be. Your lot's pitiful, really…"

Vivien watched him closely as he trailed off with a shrug, not quite sure how he could make it sound as though she was missing out on something special—but clearly she was. Although, she didn't know if that was good or bad, but supposed she could live without seeing the place. So, lips pursed and looking quite confused, but enlightened at the same time (however that was possible) she replied with the only thing she could think of, "Oh…"

Jack smiled crookedly. "Don't worry your pretty little head over it, lass. It's safe to say you'll never set foot down there as long as ye live," he announced shortly, not clueless to the blush that had formed on the young woman's already reddened cheeks. Before she could get another word in, however, he was shooing her away.

"Now, I've never actually _seen_ the deck clean itself, but if you'd be so kind as to demonstrate…?"

Frowning, Vivien took the hint and promptly turned away from the pirate captain, mop in hand. Recalling words that had once been spoken to her by Belfast, she repeated them in her head. _Be obedient and don't do anything stupid_. She repeated it several times until she was satisfied she would do just that. Jack was right, of course. She had a deck to finish, then the cabins…then the brig. And then she had to wash the dishes from supper before having anything herself…

But she couldn't help butdwell on his words andthink of St. Marie. A sort of dark foreboding lapsed over her mind at the thought of the place, and she couldn't help but feel on edge. Such a town was definitely not somewhere she wanted to be, she was quite sure of that.

**--**

**Translations:**

L'hâle – the sunburn

Vivien aggravé – aggravated Vivien

Taches de rousseur hideux – hideous freckles

Hâle condemnable – damnable sunburn

Je ne peux pas – I can't

Pas vraiment – not really

Vous etes – you are

Fait attention – roughtly translated as 'pay attention'

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	13. Catching Up

The Trouble with Women

**Chapter 12**

Catching Up

**--**

Life aboard the _Black Pearl_ became infinitely worse before turning even the slightest bit for the better. Vivien found herself in the midst of unwanted stares and nervous, hateful whispers speaking of witchcraft and sorcery. Murmuring of bad luck and women—strange women with strange powers.

Her first day aboard the ship had been nothing but endless work and a constant air filled with the crew whispering and staring. Jack Sparrow hadn't been much of a help, either. Gibbs she hadn't spoken to since the morning before and Anamaria, well Anamaria made it quite clear she was there to work, not to socialize. And the mulatto woman certainly didn't want Vivien's company. The men were more her friends and she was much more akin to the men than a lonely Frenchwoman taken from the luxuries of her home and forced to work upon a pirate ship.

Vivien found herself trapped in a world of strange things and strange people, nothing all that familiar and no one or semblance of anything to comfort her. Not that she had had many friends in the first place, but the maids had always been so kind to her, and in turn she was kind to them. And Édouard—when he wasn't scolding her—was the loveliest soul she had ever encountered. Second only to Aumary, of course, whom she missed more than ever even though he had been gone for years.

Now she felt alone. Utterly and completely alone, placed in a roomful—a ship full of strangers that wanted nothing more than to use and harm her. They were greedy and had made it quite clear she wasn't going anywhere before they had her treasure—her father's fortune. And it was something she didn't have had no clue as to where it was.

Vivien was stuck in nothing short of a nightmare. She wished for nothing more than for everything to return to normal.

Her second day of work aboard the _Black Pearl_ started much the same way as the first. Anamaria woke her an hour after dawn, a time she realized was when most aboard the pirate ship woke. This morning, however, Jack was at the helm early, directing his ship with the fair lady wind at his back. Anamaria told her he was the first to rise, and was there before anyone was on deck, already readying his ship for another day. And it was his ship. He was in the rare situation when the ship was his, and no one else's, and the crew were aboard as either companions or guests.

When Vivien stumbled on deck, her back stiff and limbs aching from her first day scrubbing and her skin bruised and burnt, Anamaria immediately sent her to work, and she continued to mop the decks until noon, at which the crew, including Jack, rushed down to the galley with the arrival of lunch. She had stayed alone up on deck, and when she had asked Anamaria of this oddity before, she had promptly stated most the crew thought her a witch and therefore wouldn't take kindly to her at their table.

Vivien had nodded rather dejectedly to this, wondering if it was true but then remembering how frightened of her Mr. Gibbs had been and how many of the crew had muttered things of witches behind her back. It seemed as though the rumours held true even on a pirate ship from the Caribbean, proving to her once and for all that the lord above liked nothing better than spiting her and causing her infinite misfortune. This last thought had later, ironically, led to a near hour of praying at her bedside, Vivien sobbing her heart out and asking for forgiveness. For normalcy.

She had never been a very religious woman.

At present time Vivien was along on deck, just about done swabbing the whole thing—a great improvement from the day before. She fancied she was becoming rather good at wielding her mop, although her muscles greatly protested that. She felt like one big bruise, literally. Either that or one big strained muscle. Or both. Most likely both.

Sighing slightly, the young woman heaved the bucket up from the deck and along with her mop, made her way slowly to the side of the large ship. It was eerie when she was alone. The ship seemed to speak to her, groaning and squeaking sounds, the ropes shuddering as they held fast, the sails flapping loudly above her, the very boards beneath her feet protesting her movements. A strange presence seemed to envelope her, although it could have very well been her imagination. But it was imposing almost as much as it was eerie. The _Black Pearl_ didn't seem to fancy her presence all that much, and if she did she had a funny way of showing it.

Rolling her eyes at her thoughts, Vivien pushed them aside. _Ships aren't alive, and this hunk of driftwood certainly isn't,_ she scolded herself, and plunked her mop and bucket down by the side before wiping her sweaty brow with a dirty hand. She winced slightly as her grimy fingers swept across the sensitive sunburn darkening on her face. Somehow, dirt and grease had managed to accumulate on every wrinkle and strip of flesh on her hands, and both that and salt seemed to sting her sunburn terribly.

She allowed herself the simply pleasure of leaning forward onto the side of the ship, the sea breeze once again cooling her brow while the weight was being taken off her feet. It was a wonderful sensation disturbed by only one small inconvenience. As she closed her eyes to the wind she became aware of something she had been trying to hold off,an unpleasant queasiness in the pit of her stomach and behind her eyes.

Seasickness, she believed it to be, and closing her eyes to rest made her realize just how much the _Pearl _was chopping through the waves. The ocean had been calmer the day before, so she hadn't noticed, but as her sun exposure continued and the water became rougher with angry whitecaps, the unease of her stomach grew…

…and grew…

…and grew until she had to swallow the amount of bile rising in her throat.

Of course, the mere taste of the vile stuff on her tongue didn't help, and subsequently set off a reaction that was entirely too unpleasant.

And odd sort of strangled look overcame Vivien's normally soft features, and anyone watching would have laughed, but there was no one around and no one to laugh. That made her feel somewhat relieved when she promptly leaned over the side of the ship, her hands clutching to the rail with white knuckles, and proceeded to vomit yesterday's dinner and that day's breakfast into the foaming waters below.

It was short upheaval, and Vivien straightened back up with as much dignity as she could muster when all the contents of her stomach had been offered to the fishes. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and cringing while doing so, she gave a sound halfway between a whimper and a moan before slumping against the side. Luckily, the crew hadn't silently snuck back on deck while she had been vomiting, and she once again closed her eyes for a bit of rest.

Only, she still felt terrible. And the _Pearl _continued to roll, continued to rock…

And her insides rolled with it…

Within seconds Vivien was draped limply back over the side, puking her guts out for all she was worth. _Yesterday's lunch, _she thought grimly, but cut her trail of thoughts as the urge to heave for all she was worth overcame her. And she did, without much grace, and when she was done she sunk into the deck with a groan, arms falling limp at her sides, not bothering to wipe the remnants of vomit from her chin.

Feeling not a bit better, she hardly noticed when a shadow fell over her, preferring to keep to her own miserable company. It was only when a deep voice spoke that she started from her daze and thought to run her hand along her chin.

"Truth be told, we was wonderin' when you'd have a bout of seasickness."

Vivien jolted and her eyes immediately snapped open, only to fall on the two men, Beckham and Louis, accompanied by another large, bulky pirate.

Beckham, tall, gangly, and dirty, was the first to speak.

"'Ello, precious. Me an' me mates have decided to come give ye a small hand, we was."

Vivien's green eyes widened considerably as she noted the size of the three. And she rather doubted they had come to gave her help, at least not without having something in return.

"Th-that's very kind of you," she started quickly, pulling herself to her feet with the aid of the rail, fingers digging into the wood, visions of Édouard's frying pan were filling her head. But it was not with her, so she would have to make due with something else. Bending down rather slowly, somewhat afraid she would puke, she grasped the handle of her fallen mop and pulled it up with her before continuing. "But I assure you all I'm quite fine by myself."

Beckham smirked, nudging the unfamiliar pirate. "Well, me an' me mates thought you were lookin' kinda lonesome so's we decided we ought to come do somethin' about it, aye?"

Vivien wondered how someone could look lonely while purging their guts into the sea.

Louis spoke this time. "Aye, seein' as Jack's avoidin' ye like the Black Death, we thought we might take his place, didn't we Bardus?"

Bardus, the fat man with the muscled arms, nodded stupidly with a crooked grin on his pudgy face.

"So what do ye say, lass?" Beckham sneered?

Grip white-knuckled on the mop, Vivien narrowed her eyes. _Très bien...three violent, dirty pirates who look ready to jump the first female hide that walks their way, _she cursed inwardly. All the dreadful stories of pirate she had ever heard were coming back to haunt her now. They spoke of rape and murder, torture and starvation. And she was quite sure these men wanted to commit at least one of these acts.

"I say you go one your way, _monsieurs__…_or, or I'll cast a dreadfully impious spell on you all!" _Great Vivien, very resourceful…_

And they laughed. "Gonna turn us all into toads, are ye?" Louis sneered, chuckling slightly.

Vivien swallowed thickly. Last time she noticed, the crew seemed to avoid her like a dog does a vicious cat. What had changed?

"A-actually, I was thinking more like rats," she stuttered, but held her ground. Her eyes darted to Bardus, "Or you can be a toad." She nodded to Louis then, "You can be a rat." She turned to Beckham, "And you—you can be _un__ tas des conneries!_"

Beckham blinked in confusion before turning sharply to Louis. "What'd she say?" he all but complained.

Louis narrowed his eyes. "She said a pile of horse shit," he translated crudely, and all three pairs of eyes suddenly focused on the trembling woman.

"Why yew liddle whore…" Beckham growled menacingly, advancing on her slowly, with his face twisted into a mask of rage.

_Merde__, why must my tongue get carried away? _Vivien asked herself desperately. This happened every once in a while, times where she was frightened and felt the need to protect herself, so instead of screaming sputtered off a series of insults fit only for the commoners and barkeepers. Belfast had run her down like a bull after such outbursts, and she was subsequently barred in her room for three to four days.

It continued to happen, however, and now her mouth had gotten her into another bout of trouble.

Whimpering slightly, knowing she was about to be either slashed down with a rusty sword, shot with a pistol or dragged below to be raped repeatedly by large, dirty men…_mais__…_she had to do something!

But of course she couldn't really _do_ anything.

"_S'il vous plaît…_if you hadn't—_m'a menacé si grossièrement! S'il…s'il vous plaît—_um, _please, Je n'aurais pas dit_ such a-a-a-a _chose!"_ she blabbered, mixing languages clumsily, backing slowly away from the men, mop held to her breast. "P-please _ne__ me blessent pas…_"

"Stop gibbering, stupid witch-woman!" Beckham roared, Louis and Bardus right behind him.

Almost tripping over her skirts as she scurried back away from them, Vivien held up a hand as a sign for them to halt. It didn't do much good, though, so she resorted to words, which weren't much better as she was still stuck between using French and English. "I'll say it now, _séjour_—stay where you are!" she warned in a quavering voice. "Jack Sparrow _vous__ arrêtera_!"

Louis barked out a laugh. "Sparrow ain't here now is he, woman?"

Biting her lip savagely, Vivien shifted her grip on the mop, her eyes glued to Beckham. He looked ready to jump at her like a fierce tiger…

And he did, only the young woman's skittishness allowed her to turn on her heels—earning several splinters in the process—and run like the devil himself was hot on her heels. A cry tore from her throat, and anyone who might have been listening carefully enough might have deciphered the words to "_Lâchez-moi!"_ as she bounded across the deck.

Vivien might have made it twenty paces before a rough hand on her sleeve spun her boldly around. But she was somewhat ready for the attack, and she swung the mop out in a deranged fashion, and the sopping, grimy strings of rough fabric struck the pirate square in the side of his head, right above the temple. He fell to the deck much like a soggy sack of potatoes, with a muffled, squished thud.

The young woman stared in horror. Never in her whole life had she actually managed a clean hit on someone attacking her…of course this was the first time she had actually had something to defend herself with as she was being attacked. It was amazing nonetheless…but _pas bon, _she realized. _Pas bon!_

She had probably killed the man! The thought made her nausea come back with twice the force, causing her to stagger slightly. Jack would be furious, she would be flogged and raped to death, shot in the feet until her lie came out, 'I don't know where the treasure is!' and she would be struck repeatedly for such a stupid thing before being strung up upon the mast and forced to the wrath of the sun and then thrown overboard where her fresh and puss oozing wounds would bleed in the water and attract sharks and she would be mauled, torn apart limb by limb by limb by limb—

Vivien was grabbed roughly from behind, shaking her from her terrified thoughts. She yelped aloud, surprised, struggling a moment before she realized she still held the mop. The weapon. Almost angrily, she forced the butt end of the pole into the pirate's stomach, and her reward was being dropped.

_Silly fool, _she told herself, _almost getting strangled to death!_

Louis was suddenly before her. He may have been the one who had grabbed her, but she still wasn't thinking quite straight. She had killed the man, hadn't she? Hadn't she? Her thoughts were a daze, her movements halting, her stomach in turmoil.

The French pirate had somehow gotten hold of the end of her mop, and was now struggling to force it from her grasp. She pulled back on it, however, growling much like a feral animal, because the mop was the only thing to defend her and without it…without it she was doomed. Not that she wasn't already, mind you, which might have been the reason why she was acting so oddly.

Possessively, she wrenched the mop free from the pirate, swinging it back before shoving its bristles into his face. Oh yes, mops were just as good as frying pans, excellent to manuever.

Recoiling, Louis stumbled away, hands over his eyes, and Vivien might have taken the time to either rejoice in her second victory or fret because she may have injured another one of Jack's crew, but she suddenly felt horribly ill. Very horribly ill.

That, and with darkness meeting her moments later, she didn't have much time to do anything about either.

**--**

Belfast lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the glaring midday sun, one hand resting on the side of the ship. He could feel the steady rocking of the waves _beneath_ the wood of the ship, lifting it gently, jostling it from side to side playfully. The winds were picking up today, he noticed, the monstrous sails above him billowing out proudly, full and stretched taut. The sea, which had darkened slightly over the past two hours, was sporting small white caps that rolled over in the waves before jumping back up once again.

The wind was cool in his dark hair, playful with his dark overcoat and shirt cuffs.

He could feel it taking him faster, pushing the ship on its course, towards its destination.

He could feel the speed of it, the power of it, and the force of it.

The thump of boots behind him alerted Belfast to his new company. Of course, he already knew who it was. No other men of the crew had dared approach him except the first mate. And even then it was only to relay the captain's orders.

Turning his head slightly, Belfast regarded the dark Spaniard coolly. He stood there looking every bit a regal captain despite his less than honourable profession. He wondered idly why he had never managed to pull off that commanding look just right.

"Once again, I ask you how you know where Sparrow will be headed, _Señor _Elaido. And this time I hope you have a suitable answer," Belfast said darkly, his face fixed in a frown. He hadn't realized until his first day aboard the_La Sangre de Mar _had ended just how much he disliked Antonio Elaido. But he was a reliable business partner. One of his word, who hardly ever cheated his way out of a deal. If there was any cheating to be done, it would be by Belfast himself and no one else.

Antonio merely grinned, that annoying Spanish grin that irked Belfast to his very being. "_Sencillo__, mi amigo._ No doubt this Jack Sparrow hasn't been able to restock his ship or let his crew have a break for a good while now if he's come all the way from the Caribbean," he stated smoothly, his voice suggesting he didn't think too highly of Jack Sparrow. Belfast had noticed that ever since first mentioning his name, how the Spaniard seemed to sneer every time he heard mention of the 'so called infamous pirate.'

"Yes, but I fail to see where that leads us," Belfast stated pointedly.

"As I said, Dorian, if you were any sort of sailor you would know where we are headed. It's only the most widely populated pirate town in the world, _mi amigo._ One of my favourites, to say the least," Antonio explained, jumping and skipping around giving a full answer.

Meanwhile, Belfast was bristling at the younger man's remarks. Of course, how could the fool know that Dorian Belfast, vicious Caribbean buccaneer, had sailed on one of the most feared pirate ships in the Spanish Main nigh twenty years before? How could he know he had been fought side-by-side Jacques du Bourbon on the _Refuge Gris, _the _Grey Haven_?

"Stop being elusive, Antonio, it makes you seem like one of those society men," Belfast growled gruffly, eyes turning back to the horizon.

Antonio only chuckled, stepping forward to stand at the older man's side. "We are headed for L'île St. Marie, off the northeast coast of Madagascar, where the whole island is devoted to illegal activities, and is guarded by a fleet of pirate ships twice the size of the Spanish navy."

"The Spanish navy is nothing but a few toy boats," Belfast retorted. But of course he remembered now. His age was catching up to him, that was all. St. Marie was a pirate's haven, and the first likely place Jack Sparrow would be found.

He ignored Antonio's indignant frown and pushed himself from the side of the ship.

Jack Sparrow, legendary pirate of the Caribbean and first Captain of the _Black Pearl_, fastest ship ever to sail the new world's waters…was as predictable as a dog after a bone. They would catch up yet, Belfast had no doubt about that. And if Sparrow continued to make it so easy for him he would find himself greatly disappointed. A marvellous game of cat and mouse was something any pirate could enjoy, especially one such as himself.

_Captain Jack Sparrow, I do believe your reputation has exceeded you…_

**--**

**French and Spanish Translations:**

Un tas des conneries – a pile of horse shit (pardon Vivien's French, she can be rather crude at times!)

Merde – Something akin to 'damn.'

S'il vous plait…if you hadn't—m'a menacé si grossièrement! S'il…s'il vous plait—um, please, Je n'aurais pas dit such a-a-a-a chose! – since this sentence is so hacked up I'll just write the whole things down: Please, if you hadn't spoken to me so crudely! Please, please, I would not have said such a thing!

Neme blessent pas– do not hurt me

Séjour – stay

Jack Sparrow vous arrêtera! _– _Jack Sparrow will stop you!

Lâchez-moi! – leave me alone!

Pas bon – not good

La Sangre de Mar - The Sea Blood

Sencillo, mi amigo – simple, my friend

Refuge Gris – Grey Haven

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	14. Straight Apple Cider

The Trouble with Women

**Chapter 13**

Straight Apple Cider

**--**

Vivien woke to the sound of distant murmuring accompanied by the soft, fluttering touch of something rather cool upon her cheeks and face. For a moment, she lay still and content, clutching on the recesses of sleep. Her mind was foggy, her eyes still closed and welcoming rest. But that feeling, like something was crawling along her face, refused to allow her to drift back into slumber. It was irritating, but her body was telling her she should wake up.

She was beyond the point of no return. She was aware, and the light touches wanted to make her twitch. She wondered briefly what they were, but found she was still far too groggy to care or find out.

The next moment, however, she realized someone was speaking to her, and the far away murmurs grew in volume.

And that was that. Sleep slipped out from beneath Vivien's fingers and was lost.

She wiggled her nose as something dabbed tenderly, upon her cheeks and forehead. Immediately, the first thing that came to mind was spiders. _Araignées._ Hundreds of small, black, hairy spiders with long legs and beady eyes, crawling all over her face and hair. She squirmed, but her eyelids were still heavy. A voice cursed her from above.

"Damn it! Can't ya stay still for one bloody moment?" Anamaria's voice shouted angrily.

Vivien wondered vaguely why the female pirate was over her, while she was sleeping no less!

But she lay still once more, sighing deeply, too tired to open her eyes and see what Anamaria was up to. There were soft covers beneath her, she could feel the fabric beneath her fingertips, but she felt fidgety and unnaturally warm. That heat must have been what began to lull her back into dreamland, because she was feeling rather detached.

Something touched her face again. She grumbled a bit at first, but then couldn't contain herself and burst out in a fit of giggles. Because it tickled something terrible, and she found she just couldn't hold it in.

As she laughed to herself, a voice a ways away mumbled lowly, "Lass sure be twitchy, ain't she?" It was Mister Gibbs, she was sure.

Vivien thought it rather odd that both Anamaria and Gibbs had been watching her while she slept, and her feeble laugher died down slightly as she came to a realization. Eyes snapping open, blinking rapidly, the young woman took a moment to stare at the wooden ceiling above. Then, quite suddenly, she shot upright on the cot, arms flailing wildly in an attempt to detangle herself from blankets and pillows.

Quickly, her green eyes adjusted to the dim lighting in the room, and the first thing she noticed was that she was back in her tiny cabin. And she was sitting, intertwined with her rumpled bed sheets, and Gibbs and Anamaria were both staring down at her with the oddest of anxious looks. She imagined she might look about the same, but it didn't take away the awkwardness of the situation.

"_Qu'est_…W-what's this?" she asked, half-demanding in a suspicious voice.

The two blinked almost simultaneously, not speaking, just staring, and Vivien caught sight of a small wooden bowl clutched in the mulatto woman's hands. She sat on a stool by her bedside, watching the Frenchwoman owlishly. Gibbs stood a few feet back, looking slightly out of place, leaning on what looked to be a large barrel filled with water beside a rickety chair. A faded and ragged cloth hung on its side.

But Vivien's attention was on the mysterious bowl. "What's that?" she asked slowly, somewhat cautiously.

Anamaria's eyes darted down to the bowl. "Oh…oh! Tis a remedy for your sunburns," she replied simply, and then paused slightly before continuing. "You have some on yer face right now."

"Nasty sunburns those are," Gibbs piped in from behind her.

Frowning ever so slightly, the young woman raised a careful hand to her face and ran it along her cheek. She encountered a light, gooey substance coating her skin, and realized she might not have noticed if Anamaria hadn't have pointed it out. Pulling her hand away with a mild look of disgust, Vivien regarded the remedy critically in the dim light. It was greenish in colour and quite thick—quite promptly reminding her of nothing less than a pile of snot. Revolted now, she swiftly wiped it onto the covers of her bed, feeling her stomach turn over unpleasantly. She suddenly felt quite sick, closed in with stifling hot hair reeking of sweat and salt.

"_What_ is it?" she forced out, swallowing down a bit of bile rising in her throat.

Anamaria merely rolled her eyes at the young woman and dipped her finger into the bowl. "It'll help your sunburn, fool," she replied softly, leaning forward to spread it along Vivien's cheek where she had wiped some off. "Made of apple cider mixed with vinegar. Tis and old remedy used by my mother back in my village. You leave this on for a good couple hours and it'll soak right in and stop blistering and peeling. You should be thankful I didn't let Crimp have a try at you with _his_ remedy. So stop acting as though I'm poisoning you and let me finish the job so ye won't be lookin' like a tomato the next few days."

Vivien wanted to shy away from the feeling of the salve on her hot skin, but resisted the urge to speak, hoping it wouldn't upset Anamaria. "How late is it?" she asked, eyes straying to the windowsill where it was darkening.

Either it had come to her moments before or she had never forgotten, but images of Beckham's snarling face entered her thoughts quite abruptly. She hoped Anamaria or Gibbs could at least tell her what had happened after everything had faded to black.

The portly man was the one to answer. "Few hours before supper, I reckon. Brill the cook already be startin' up that mush he calls food."

Vivien nodded absently and Anamaria made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat. She wondered what had happened to the three pirates but was rather dreading asking.

Swallowing slightly, she forced herself to speak. "I mean no ungratefulness…but…why are you doing this?"

Gibbs turned to eye her while Anamaria stopped her work. They exchanged a glance before simultaneously breaking out into a chorus of hearty chuckles, clearly amused by the young woman's words. Vivien could only watch in a bemused silence, brow furrowed slightly. Really, she couldn't see what was so funny…

Finally, Gibbs decided to enlighten her, and did so with a grin. "Yer a brave one, I have to admit," he chuckled again. "Attacked Beckham, Louis and Bardus with naught but a wet mop, knocked the ringleader senseless, nearly mangled the Frenchman and lived to tell about it!" he hooted, and Vivien felt a flutter of unease in her stomach as well as a deep, embarrassed blush creeping up on her cheeks.

If she was going to be flogged for injuring Jack's crew, the two kind pirates before her seemed very nonchalant about it. But she couldn't stop her doubts.

"A mighty brave thing to do, miss, but daft nonetheless," Gibbs commented, and again he and Anamaria exchanged a wordless glance—this one of humour.

The Frenchwoman felt the need to speak up. "They attacked me. What would you have me do otherwise?"

The mulatto woman gave her a hearty pat on the shoulder, smirking slightly. "Don't fret, lass. Anyone willing to stand up to those three hotheads, especially a lady such as yourself, deserves the slightest bit of respect, we figure," she finished, and once again began to apply the cider vinegar solution to her skin. "Besides, Jack was being an ignorant git when he didn't have these burns treated the day you got them. Someone with such pale skin can't just go waltzing about in the sunshine after so many years of avoidin' it."

Vivien only looked even more embarrassed by this, and Anamaria couldn't help but grin. The girl was so modest. At first, she had detested it, but now she could merely look upon the young woman and chuckle at her reserve.

"Cheer up, lass. I don't think ya realized how pathetic you look right now," Anamaria taunted lightly, attempting to get a rise from her.

Vivien only gave a watery, faint smile, silent as Anamariaonce again attended to her sunburns, grabbing one of her limp arms and smearing the goop along her skin. It was the strangest sensation, as her red and burned skin heated the salve, almost as though she was melting.

Uncomfortably, she cleared her throat, trying to take her mind of the sensation. "What, exactly…happened…?" she found herself asking, but it didn't make much sense to her.

The two pirates understood, though.

Gibbs smiled kindly at her. "We reckon you fainted, lass, either from the shock or the seasickness," he explained shortly.

"Or sunstroke," Anamaria added calmly, working on Vivien's other arm now. "I finished my lunch, came up one deck, and there you were layin' sprawled on the deck with that mop o' yours, and that dumb brute Bardus standin' to the side lookin' guilty as can be, near eatin' his nails off, and the other two cronies floppin' about in pain," she gave a short snort of laughter.

"Yer much tougher than ye give yourself credit for," Gibbs said solemnly. "Had all three men scared out o' their wits, I 'magine."

Vivien could hardly believe that, because the last she had seen of them, all three looked ready to tear her limb from limb. The very thought of the three set her on edge, and she was about to ask what had been done with them when two sharp, solid knocks came upon the closed door.

The two women regarded the door curiously for a moment, and then Gibbs made his way over and pulled it open. Unsurprisingly or surprisingly (Vivien wasn't quite sure which one it was), none other that Jack stood there, an oddly awkward look upon his handsome face. Gibbs didn't seem the least bit shocked in see his captain, while Anamaria gave a derisive snort, shaking her head slightly.

"Is she awake then?" Jack asked shortly, voice low.

Vivien watched as Anamaria wrinkled her nose. "Are you blind, Sparrow?" she asked him loudly, and the Frenchwoman seemed to shrink back into the cot, trying to make herself as little as possible.

But not before Jack's eyes met her own. She could feel a blush rising in her already red cheeks, and vaguely heard Jack ask Gibbs to take over the helm from "young Roberts." She couldn't for the life of her say why the Captain made her blush so, but she figured it was the eyes. Vivien wasn't too keen on eye contact, and Jack Sparrow seemed to enjoy it immensely.

Anamaria merely ignored the man; possibly still cross after Jack had ignored Vivien's sunburn, therefore making her the one to take care of the young woman. She didn't complain, though, only tucking bits of hair out of the way to dab a bit of her miracle remedy on the tops of Vivien's reddened ears.

Jack entered the room with flourish, as always, the door closing somewhat loudly behind him. As he swaggered closer to the two women, Vivien saw him narrow his eyes slightly in the dim light, swaying ever so slightly on his feet.

"What's that on your face, love?" he asked finally, bemused.

Anamaria was the one to answer. "Ya mean the nasty sunburn or the remedy I had to whip up in order to get rid of the nasty sunburn, Sparrow?" she inquired sardonically, turning to face him with her lips pursed.

Frowning, Jack held up a hand, pointing a finger. "Captain, if you don't mind," he corrected almost absently.

Turning back to Vivien, the mulatto woman rolled her eyes. "Right. _Captain_ Sparrow, did I answer your most intelligent question?" she mocked him.

The young Frenchwoman watched as Jack's face darkened somewhat, but realized on her three days aboard the ship she noticed the two never seemed to talk civil, alwaysflinging barbs and insults at each other. Anamaria's sharp tongue was a particular humorous thing to listen to while she constantly jibed at Jack, and she wondered why the Captain kept the rough woman aboard when they seemed to annoy each other so easily.

She brought from her thoughts by Jack's voice.

"If this is about that last card game…"

Sighing, the mulatto woman turned to fix the pirate with a flat stare. "I know ye cheated on that, Sparrow—Captain. Ye can't play maw worth shit. But that ain't what this is about," she stated. "But if you did come down here to say something to the lass can ya do it now so I can get me work done?"

Scowling, but sensing not to press the issue, Jack pulled up the vacant chair beside the bed as Anamaria beckoned Vivien forward so she could spread the cool paste along her collarbone. This only ended further embarrassing the woman and providing Jack a wonderful source of amusement—not to mention a nice view. He got the point though, and cleared his throat loudly before speaking, eyes suddenly on the Frenchwoman's face.

"Actually, I came down to check on ye. Glad to see you're finally up, darling…" he was mildly distracted as the mulatto woman spreading the salve lower down on Vivien's chest.

"Sparrow," Anamaria growled warningly, not even turning to face the man but knowing quite well he was ogling at the display.

Blinking rapidly, he cleared his throat again, which had somehow become rather dry, and swallowed before starting again. "And…just in case you were wondering, love, I've locked Beckham and his mates down in the brig. They've violated the _Pearl__'s_ code of conduct and they'll pay the price for their mistakes," he declared almost casually, watching as Anamaria fussed a bit over Vivien's nose. "They will be removed from my ship when we reach St. Marie tomorrow morn'."

Vivien watched Anamaria's face as it darkened. "'If at any time ya meet with a prudent woman, and a man that offers to meddle with her without her consent shall suffer present death,'" the female pirate recited lowly, and then shot Jack a sharp look. "Doesn't sound as though the punishment's harsh enough, I think."

Jack merely arched an eyebrow at her, daring the mate to continue. "Anamaria, love, ye forgot that the men didn't have the chance to finish what they started, so you don't honestly expect me to toss them overboard, do you? Personally, I think borrowing their personal belongings, money, and weapons before stripping them down to their skivvies and running them off the ship in broad daylight should suffice."

The mulatto woman seemed stubborn in her opinion.

Once again, Jack could only grin, leaning back in his chair and stretching languidly. "'Every man or woman shall obey civil command, m'dear,'" he reminded her cheekily.

And that was that. Anamaria snorted in contempt and stood up from her stood, taking the bowl with her. She walked shortly over to the barrel in the midst of the room and submerged her hands quickly, scrubbing them clean. "Aye, fair enough Captain. But I suppose you'll be wanting to tell the lass about her change of duties now," she smirked.

Immediately, Jack frowned. Anamaria never ceased to infuriate him. "Of course," he declared breezily, forcing a smile on the young woman. "I won't expect you to swab the brig while those three mangy cads are inhabiting the place, but once they're gone your back to full duties, I'm afraid."

Vivien didn't think he seemed as regretful as his words seemed.

Shaking her hands free of water, Anamaria snatched up the small cloth on the side of the large barrel and fixed Jack with a steady stare. "You have her workin' like a cabin boy and I doubt she's even signed the ship's articles," she sneered, and the pirate tilted his head away from her, looking indecisive and sucking lightly on the inside of his cheek.

Vivien couldn't help but think the two had discussed this before.

And Jack continued on with his speech, clearly with some difficulty. Clearly, Anamaria didn't show her power over him often, but when she did she was a force to be reckoned with.

"_And,_ with some helpful input from dear, _dear_ Anamaria, I've decided you're to start cooking for the crew and switch your deck-swabbing duties for sewing any torn sails, shirts, breeches, you know…that lot. And you'll still be cleaning the cabins," he added quickly. "Savvy?"

Now, Vivien might have not had a problem for these conditions if there hadn't been several small things in the way. Really, they sounded easy enough, for an experienced maid or cook. Vivien was neither.

"Captain Sparrow…_sir_. I…can't cook _or_ sew."

Both Anamaria and Jack fixed incredulous stares upon her.

"What do ye mean you can't cook? _Or_ sew? Every woman knows how to cook and sew! They're basic skills necessary to sustain life!" Jack exclaimed, and then realized that he had been demanding such things far too frequently over the past days.

Vivien was at a loss. "_I_ can't!" she replied weakly, not knowing what to say.

Seeming very displeased, Jack clenched his jaw in an effort to vent his frustration. "Bloody women!" he growled irritably before closing his dark eyes and taking a slow, deep, calming breath. _Take it easy Jack_, he told himself. "Yes. Okay. Fine! If that's how it goes…" he muttered, gaze focused on her and raising a hand to gesture wildly. "Brill, the cook, will help you, then. And you will follow his _every_ word, _savvy_?"

Wetting her lips nervously with her tongue, Vivien nodded.

And Jack was smiling once more. "Good then. Your work starts again tomorrow," he announced.

**--**

Anamaria had left, Jack had left, and Vivien was left alone in the confines of her room smelling like cider and vinegar while feebly attempting to dry out her hair with a small towel. The mulatto woman had been the last the leave, quite plainly telling her to amuse herself for a few more hours before 'taking a quick dip in the barrel.' It had been left in her room, apparently for her to bathe in, and she had. But she had found she could barely fit in the thing, and the water was cold, and she had managed to get water almost everywhere but the places she needed.However, after a good half hour of scrubbing within the small confines of the water barrel, she had emerged triumphant—not to mention much cleaner than that morning.

But she still reeked of alcohol and vinegar, which in turn made her sensitive nose itch somewhat, finally ending in a horrible headache.

She was thankful, however, because her heated skin had cooled and lost some of its redness, allowing her to take pleasure in the night air. The sea breeze had wafted in through her small porthole opposite the bed, and it was so much more appreciated than the hot sun.

She had struck a match and lit the candle inside the lantern beside her cot, and was somewhat amazed that it had managed to brighten the whole room. Now, the only problem was that the shadows were dancing across the walls and floor in some haunted dance, and she couldn't help but feel that there were rats scurrying about her room, intent on tormenting her. Oh, and how she hated rats!

Vivien was just attempting to squeeze more moisture from her hair when a loud knock on her closed door announced another's presence. She jumped slightly, eyes widening and head snapping towards the door, and froze with her towel entwined with the wet locks of brown hair. She must have looked a complete mess, she knew, perched in the edge of her bed in a dress spotted with damp patches, long hair tangled with knots and reeking of Anamaria's sunburn remedy.

So, naturally, she debated on whether or not to simply ignore the person knocking upon her door or answer it as she was.

And after a moment of indecision, she was about to decide on the first option, but apparently the person standing outside her door was either too impatient for that, had something urgent to discuss with her, or was just flat out rude. So the door was unlocked and swung open, squealing on its hinges and admitting her guest into her room.

She found she wasn't all that surprised when Jack Sparrow was standing in her doorway, for the second time that day, she might add, cocky grin and all.

**--**

I wouldn't recommend trying to use the sunburn remedy mentioned in this chapter. It's a very old recipe and I'm not sure if it actually works...:P

**French Translations: **

Araignées – spiders

Qu'est - what is

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	15. Good Food, Bad Food

The Trouble with Women

**Chapter 14**

Good Food, Bad Food

**--**

Without so much as a pleasant _bonjour, _Jack Sparrow swaggered into Vivien's cabin, leaving in his wake an open door. And then, before the young woman could get a word in edgewise…or a friendly _bonjour, _he had cut her off and launched into an enthusiastic speech with a pleasant grin plastered across his tanned face.

"Ah, Vivien, love, glad to see you're near being rid o' that sunburn! I must say I was rather concerned in the first place, you looked as red as a ripe tomato," he announced with much ado, hands seemingly flailing in every direction. It was all Vivien could do not to let herself feel slightly dizzy with the onslaught of movement. Her stomach hadn't quite settled yet, and the overpowering stench of vinegar and liquor was not helping the slightest.

"Thank you Captain…but was there something you wished to speak to me about?" she questioned with a slight frown, almost hoping there had been no reason and he would leave as soon as possible. Her stomach was not agreeing with her mood, which in turn wasn't agreeing with her words.

No such luck, as Jack's grin only grew. He seemed to secretly enjoy peeving her.

"What, don't tell me you're not hungry!" he exclaimed, pressing a spread hand to his chest, stepping forward with a look of mock surprise. "I know for a fact you haven't eaten since this morning, two hours past dawn to be precise. You _must_ be hungry, what with all this excitement. Hitting men with mops and such… And I believe I heard from our lovely Anamaria that you've been suffering from sunstroke."

Vivien felt the ship beneath her role slightly. The lantern on her bedside table slid to the side, moving the shadows in her room. She swallowed thickly, " I suppose so," she said, not mentioning that her current condition was Jack's fault, really. She was sure he wouldn't see it from her point of view.

"Wonderful! Then you'll be pleased to know I have theperfect remedy for your ailments, love," he announced, and turned swiftly to the door, which had been blocked from Vivien's view by him. There stood a gangly young boy with reddish hair and splotches of freckles across his face, no older than twelve,laden down with a platter filled to the edges with plates and bottles. He looked ready to collapse.

"Come on in Rupert, can't keep the lady waiting now can we?" Jack beckoned the child inside. "Bring the woman her feast first and head to the galley; I'm sure Brill's still waiting with your supper."

Rupert, as he was called, scurried into the dim cabin without another thought, making a beeline for the lone nightstand at the cot's side. Depositing the tray carefully without so much as a glance her way, he straightened back up and made a quick break for the door, muttering a speedy, "Aye, aye, Cap'n." He seemed to want to get away from Vivien as quick as possible. Or maybe he just wanted to get to his food.

Whichever way, Vivien's short encounter with the young lad was over within ten seconds of it commencing.

She turned her gaze to Jack, whose eyes were glinting with some sort of mirth in the dim lantern light. He gestured obscurely at the large platter before pulling up one of the rickety chairs by her cot and settling himself down with a contented sigh.

_Oh non, this cannot be good,_ Vivien thought obscurely. Jack Sparrow taking the time to dine with her, in her own cabin no less. Visions of the first time she had been subjected to the pirate Captain's charms flittered across her mind like twittering, nervous birds. But they scattered into the depths of her mind as Jack's deep voice, slurred with the effects of time and alcohol, reached her ears.

"Now, ye see love, here I was takin' my infinite most time to prepare the delicious remains of the spoils from your _chere__ vieille maison_ back on Bourbon, and there you are takin' the time to fully ignore my efforts. I can't help but feel the slightest affronted," he told her, but by the tone of his voice she could easily tell he wasn't upset. Curious, but not upset.

But that wasn't what _really_ concerned Vivien. She imagined she gave him the most incredulous stare he had received in while, for his dark eyebrows rose slightly, nearly disappearing under his tattered red bandanna.

"Something I said, love?" he inquired somewhat cautiously, cocking his head somewhat.

"You can speak French?" she asked him, green eyes wide. She had spoken it before in his presence, she remembered, but it was mostly mixed up with garbled English, giving him enough understanding to make out what she was saying in her own language.

"Ah…_oui,_" he offered, grinning cockily.

"A pirate?" she questioned, almost to herself.

"Aye, a _pirate_," he replied, dragging out the last word with a role of his eyes. Everyone these days seemed to doubt his capabilities. _Which is precisely why you always end up on top, Jack old boy, _he reminded himself smartly.

"I hardly believe it!" she exclaimed to herself.

"I would," Jack said lightly.

Abruptly, Vivien narrowed her eyes at him, leaning forward slightly, forgetting the tantalizing smells of her dinner wafting through the sour air. A sudden anger coursed through her veins, while a few unpleasantly juvenile thoughts implanted themselves in her head. Oh yes, she would love to hear this, Jack's Sparrow inevitable butchering of her native tongue. What a sight to see, the Captain of the _Black Pearl _stumbling over himself while attempting to converse in the beautiful language that was French…

Oh yes, her upset stomach was definitely making short work of degrading her mood.

"_Capitaine__ Sparrow, votre odeur est comme le cul d'un singe,_" she told him conversationally, face calm despite the meaning of her words. _Let him try answer that, _Vivien huffed to herself.

And Jack Sparrow looked nothing short of speechless.

Vivien was about to pride herself in a discovery well-managed when the mulish pirate abruptly seemed to choke on is own saliva. He seemed to recoil from her presence a moment as though she had suddenly spouted every curse in his bible, looking completely surprised, before his demeanour switched abruptly. And the next moment his shoulders were shaking with a sort of crazed laughter.

Leaning back in his chair and allowing himself to enjoy the pleasures of amused mirth, Jack reminded himself of the promise—of sorts—he had made with himself. Nothing significant, nothing too excruciating, he was sure, and certainly none to difficult…if he kept to it. That is, digging into the enigma that was Vivien Brideau, cracking her heavily fortified exterior with his mad charms, using his cunning wit to find out what really went on inside her pretty little head and subsequently ending her acting like an old maid with a stick up her arse. And, on the side, weaselling her father's treasure out of her so he could take the time to make necessary plans before reaching the Caribbean, or even better, maybe allowing himself to indulge in pleasures such that only a woman could give to him. He'd decided to start his plan in motion with food, a dinner he was sure would light Vivien's eyes with hunger.

It was a long sail to Tortuga after L'île St. Marie, after all, with few stops in between.

So, knowing this, Jack told himself not to be the least bit offended by the insult the young Frenchwoman had just thrown at him, but rather, to enjoy the small moment in which she opened herself up and gave him a piece of her mind. And although it wasn't much, it was enough to make him laugh!

Vivien sat stock still, as tense as a stone statue, as the eccentric pirate shot up from the rickety chair, bracing himself as he swayed slightly, and then stepped forward and flopped down beside her, causing the small cot to creak in protest. His odd actions let loose the tight cord binding her imagination, and within moments it was running wild, along with the pace of her heart. And he was going to whip out that pistol of his and finally have it over with, shooting her down mercilessly in the cramped confines of her empty cabin—not even really hers—leaving no chance for escape or reasoning or pleading or begging or grovelling upon the very wood upon which his boots dirtied…

Jack settled his laughter a moment to lean forward drunkenly and peer at the young woman beside from him, a grin spotted with enticing gold wide upon his face, "Love, a fine moment it would be the day you let you're tongue speak before your brain, I was tellin' meself! Now that's it's come I must say I enjoyed it immensely," he told her, voice anything but cruel, instead warm. Amused.

The mere sound of it caused Vivien's stomach to twist with an unknown twinge, and her heart to continue on with its mad pace.

He continued, planting one hand firmly on the cot while using the other to gesture as he turned to her fully, "Believe me when I say you're not the first to think me a liar, but I might point out that Captain Jack Sparrow _never_ lies. Stretching the truth somewhat, maybe, but all for the sake of me own good will, savvy? So when I say I speak French…you should know that I do indeed speak French," he mocked her with a charming smile. "And Although I _do _recall Elizabeth referring to me odour as a wet dog…I can't say I've ever been compared to a monkey's ass. I'll bet apound Anamaria couldn't even think up _that!_" Jack grinned, eyeing her slyly. "Now correct me if I'm wrong, lass, but I was under the impression I smelt every bit the epitome of masculinity that I am!"

Vivien sat silently, still as a stone statue, green eyes glued ahead, marvelling somewhat at the fact he hadn't shot her. But she reminded herself he wasn't like _other _pirates. Well, disregarding they're first supper together, anyway. After that, he had been completely kind to her…except when he tricked her into working aboard his ship, forcing her down tothe level of a cabin boy. Or when the work he had given her forced her into the sun and subsequently led her to fainting dead away on the deck…

But then she remembered he had promised not to harm her. She couldn't help being paranoid though. Mistrustful. It was in her nature.

And never had she encountered someone quite like Jack.

She just didn't know what to think of the man!

And so wrapped up in her thoughts was she, she hardly noticed said pirate's intense gaze locked on her profile, searching every inch of her face available to him, wanting her expressive green eyes to lock with his own. She still appeared far too timid for his tastes. He would have to do something about that before it served to drive him insane…

"Care to pass me a bit of that baguette, love? Scrumptious it is," his smoky voice murmured into her ear, hot breath hitting her neck.

An undeniable shudder ran through Vivien, and she jumped around quickly to face him, blinking rapidly and fighting back the flush threatening to arise upon her cheeks. Surely this man knew if the phrase 'personal space,' something that wasn't to be invaded until a man and a woman were safely married and in love? She stared at him—he with a wicked grin—with a look of near contempt, feeling slightly ruffled by the look of heavenly innocence upon the pirate's face.

Then, "What? There isn't any baguette? I could have sworn I told Rupert to stack some o' that onto the platter. Lovely bread that is, but of course you'd know that, darling—"

"I much prefer _Mademoiselle _Brideau," Vivien cut him off before he could ramble any longer, feeling slightly cold towards the Captain. Why shouldn't she? He had kidnapped her, threatened her, stolen from her, forced her to work as long as she was aboard his ship! And now he was invading the small comforts of her confined cabin!

_He's also being obscenely charming, _she reminded herself, and suddenly found herself unable to decide whether to detest the man or be completely taken with him!

He smiled at her, waving off her comment. He had never taken to calling women by titles and didn't plan to start now. "Of course, Vivien," he replied offhandedly, and she had to force herself not to smile as her name came off his lips…his appealing lips…

"Now would you kindly dig in before I'm forced to feed you myself, hmm?" Jack arched an eyebrow cheekily at her.

"Hardly," Vivien muttered, and attempting to hide the immediate blush that threatened to stain her entire face, she shot up jerkily from the bed, hardly caring she looked quite crazy as she just wanted to put a few metres distance between them. Swallowing inaudibly, she scooped up the food-laden tray before turning swiftly back to the cot and depositing it right in the middle. Between them both.

_"Bon appétit,_ _Capitaine_. I'm afraid I'm not very hungry at the moment."

Jack merely shrugged and snatched up a slice of baguette, tore off a chunk, and popped it into his mouth. There was something about bread that completely filled his stomach, which was a welcome feeling after theslop that Brill cooked up in the galley. Gruel, gruel and more gruel, sometimes with floating chunks of mystery meat—most likely pork, as they tended to pick up one at every port. It was all the well that he had told the crew there hadn't been enough of their plundered banquet left to feed three mouths, which was the truth, really. There was enough to feed two. Himself and Vivien, in this case.

Abruptly, he noticed she hadn't bothered to eat anything, and wondered if she was used to starving herself. The smell of the fine food was getting to him, that was for sure, and he didn't quite understand why she never wanted to eat around him. He was about to do well of his word and feed her himself, and felt himself smile somewhat at the mental image that arose…

"You're not exactly sick you know," he told her, mouth half full of a quiche he had snatched up. "Eat something and take a walk up on deck and I guarantee you'll be cured."

Jack watching with a sort of triumphant grin as the women relented and plucked and orange from the pile. Her fingernails sank into the skin and she set about peeling it, revealing it's juicy centre to hungry eyes.

"May I inquire as to why you came down here, other than to convince me to eat, that is?" Vivien asked suddenly, starting even herself. What a rude thing to ask! She attempted to smooth over her harsh words with something softer. "I…I mean there _must_ be another reason…Captain. You aren't dining with your crew," she kept her eyes trained on the fruit as she pulled the last of the skin from it.

Eyebrows raising slightly, Jack swallowed his food and cleared his throat dramatically. Indeed, there had been another reason, but he was sure the demure young woman before him wouldn't appreciate him any if he told her he'd come to woo her from her carefully constructed fortress walls. So, instead, he gave her an endearing smile. "Well, I figured I would my concern evident, l—_Vivien_…after all, I wouldn't expect you to be easy around my crew after Mr. Beckham and his mates roughed you up," he started firmly. "I'd like to have you know I had a long overdue discussion with me crew, and not only did I review the _Pearl's_ articles, all of which they signed under, I made it clear none are to come near you unless it's for purely innocent reasons—like chatting. Although most of me crew enjoy they're own company, and I don't think they've quite warmed up to you yet…"

She frowned, "I noticed that."

"Aye, I believe it has something to do with witchcraft…but I took it upon myself to clear that all up during lunch. And, of course, since Gibbs seems friendly enough with you, it won't be long until they've gotten over their superstitions," Jack told her in reassurance.

Vivien regarded him a brief moment, a shrewd look upon her face, the orange still held in her hands. "And you, Captain Sparrow? You're not a superstitious man?"

He leaned back slightly, studying the silver ring upon his index finger with a relaxed pose. "Nay, I know enough of the truth to realize there is the natural, and then the supernatural. And neither can be dealt with by using necklaces of garlic or crucifixes upon a door."

The Frenchwoman nodded slightly, distracted by the smell of the food once more. With her nerves somewhat settled by the somewhat endearing conversation between them, she felt relatively at ease. And with the idea that she could trust the pirate before her to a reasonable extent, she decided to make good use of his kindness and eat.

Jack watched with a small triumphant grin as Vivien bit into the peeled orange, haphazard with her manners. "Trust me when I say none'll be bothering you anymore. I plan to make an example of those three when we dock in a day or two."

She offered him the barest of smiles. _Of course, Captain Sparrow, but running them off your ship naked? How civilized._ She could barely bring herself to thank the man, so she didn't. There still wasn't anything to thank him for.

But the mentioning of docking brought new questions into her mind. She set an inquisitive stare at the pirate. "In a day or two? Surely sailing from Bourbon Island to Madagascar would take no more than three days!" she said, somewhat alarmed. And quite suddenly, she felt uneasy.

Jack seemed to notice too. "Aye, but we're taking our time…taking our time to celebrate on a job well done, if you will," he replied slowly, wondering if she would decide to voice her obvious worries.

Vivien frowned. "Why…why would you take your time when you know I have a guardian that will no doubt want me back?" she asked, near demanding, green eyes wide.

The pirate pursed his lips slightly, regarding her carefully with his eyelids lowered somewhat. "What? You think you're guardian has the means to come after us, is that it?" he shot back, brow furrowing. "Could it be that you don't want this guardian of yours to find you? Is that why you don't want me to take you back to Bourbon and your stuffy _vieille__ maison_? May I ask why?"

Vivien stayed silent, turning her head to the side and focusing on the grainy material of her cot, and Jack knew he may have crossed some unknown line. _Too soon, Jack old boy.__ She's more likely to trust you than Beckham, but not more than Anamaria,_ he reminded himself. Of course, he hadn't expected her to trust him any time soon. That would take work.

He tried to smooth his small mistake over and relieve some of the tension hovering in the dim cabin. "Do you think you're guardian is going to come after you in hopes of snatching you back?" he asked, tilting his head slightly in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her averted face. "Truth be told it would be a difficult task."

She debated heatedly with herself for a moment, wondering whether to weave another lie or attempt to soften her inevitable fate and speak the truth. It didn't take much inner persuasion for her to choose the latter, and she then fought for the right words. "My guardian…is a very determined man."

Jack briefly wondered how old her guardian was, as an image of an elderly man with a hunchback and care hobbling after himself with Vivien slung over his should came to mind, but scattered the thoughts as she spoke again.

"He hates—no…how could I say this?" she murmured to herself, biting her lower lip and tapping her fingers on the fabric of her dress, deep in thought. "He…hates being outwitted…He'd persue me anywhere around _la maison_ if he was upset with me…"

Dark eyes trained upon her face, Jack realized he was stumbling onto and unexpected look into Vivien's life. He'd have to be careful not to scare her but couldn't help feel the slightest bit of scepticism. "Might I remind you the _Black Pearl_, the ship beneath your feet, is the fastest vessel ever seen to the Caribbean?" he replied lazily.

Vivien could only frown at his nonchalance. Here she was trying to explain to him that her guardian was a dangerous man who was obsessed over her father's treasure and knew exactly where it lay! Trying to explain that her 'humble guardian' Belfast was a retired pirate with almost infinite connections to similar criminal people, liable to be hunting them down at this very moment and he was shrugging her off as if she was some sort of _ninny_!

Fisting her hands in her skirts, she turned to stare at the pirate before her with nothing short of a venomous glare upon her face. "Captain Sparrow, I am hardly the _demoiselle gazouiller _you expect me to be, careless and…and _brainless_ with my notions! Nor am I a mindless fool thick enough not to be concerned over being perused!" she stated heatedly, somewhat flustered, face reddened. She shot up from the bed, upset, and began to pace the small confines of the cabin, orange and feast forgotten.

Jack merely watched.

She continued, "I've no idea as to what you've heard about me or my guardian, Captain, but by the way you seem so positively laid-back with this whole situation I can tell you that you've been terribly mislead. _Monsieur _Belfast does not like to be deprived of his possessions, his _propriét_, material or otherwise…" she stopped to face him, her voice seemed to linger on that last statement, and the fires seemed to die down somewhat. Once livid green eyes lingered on his a moment before lowering. "He is not a pleasant man, a fair man, or an honest man. He's as well acquainted with the felons hiding upon the Indian Ocean as you are in the Caribbean. And if ever he finds something important missing, Captain, I assure you he will go to any means necessary to get it back. The only thing you can do is get as far from him as you can." Vivien breathed a sigh of relief as one of her most long-winded rants came to an end, the food between them forgotten and a heavy silence settling in the room.

And that was it, Jack marvelled silently to himself. His first glimpse into the life that was Vivien's. And now that he saw it, the more he wished she wasn't such a squeamish woman who fainted once a day so he could have simply stolen her map and left her on Bourbon. He had a feeling this wasn't a harmless little treasure hunt anymore, and the flighty woman before him was keeping a great deal of secrets to herself.

Almost inaudibly, he sighed to himself. No doubt tonight would be a hard night of sailing.

It was time to put the _Pearl__'s _reputation to good use.

**--**

By the time dawn had broken the still ocean's waves with a myriad of light and colour the next morning, Jack could tell the _Black Pearl_ had served him well once more. The waters she sliced through were less choppy and a great deal shallower. The Indian Ocean had been transformed from a stormy blue to a deep aquamarine, the colour in which dolphins could be found. But there were none this morning, as the inflamed Indian sun rose over the horizon and the crew was roused with the ship's bell.

At this time, Jack detached himself from the helm, stroking the wheel lovingly once and letting his fingers trail lightly from the wood as he called young Roberts up to take over for the time being. He was a spry lad of nineteen, and Jack knew he was near ending his time aboard the _Pearl_. He could see it in the lad's eyes, the way they lit up when he saw the horizon, the way a grin was always worn on his face when he took the helm for his captain. He was to be a great pirate captain himself one day, Jack was sure, because he saw more of himself in that boy than he would ever admit.

Jack took it upon himself to teach the boy how to direct a great ship such as the _Pearl_, because no doubt, sometime in the future, he would be doing so with a crew under his command.

He was somewhat relieved as he trudged wearily down the short steps to the main deck where the crew scurried about to adjust the sails and change shifts. He had kept a good number of reliable men up with him the whole night and into the morning, but unlike himself, they had others to take over their duty when they grew tired. The _Pearl_ only answered to one man when there was a need to hurry, and only one man knew her like a lover's skin.

And that was no one besides himself.

Blinking in an attempt to clear his fuzzy vision, Jack mumbled a few half-hearted "g'mornin's" to his passing crew on his way to his cabin down below. His eyes were stinging, as the tended to do when the kohl was not washed away every night. As much as he liked the stuff, it hurt like a bugger when it got in one's eyes.

Rolling his neck, rewarded by several pops, he trudged down the set of stairs and reached the cabins. He hadn't done an all-nighter in longer than he cared to say, because a true pirate captain was completely devoted to his ship and sailed all around the clock much of the time. But, alas, Jack hadn't felt the need to hurry on his way to Bourbon from the Caribbean, and he hadn't felt it until the night before while speaking to Vivien. Now his very being ached, especially his feet, which, he reminded himself, weren't liable to smell like roses about now either.

The small corridor leading to his quarters was empty, but Jack couldn't help but poke his head quickly into Vivien's cabin before continuing on. It was empty, however, the small cot made with sheets pulled taut, and the candle within the bedside lantern burnt down to nothing but a solid mass of wax. Sunlight filtered through the porthole, falling over the rickety chair he had sat in the night before. Without anyone inside, he couldn't help but notice how small the room looked, but shook the sight off while blinking rapidly and stifling a yawn. And with that, he shut the door behind him and continued on his way.

Upon reaching his quarters, Jack let out a sigh of relief, locking himself inside before shrugging his shoulders out from the confines of is coat. After sliding it down his arms, he turned to throw it onto the bottom post of his bed. Then, he clumsily beginning to fumble with his belt, his tired brain not working in time with his fingers. It fell to the wooden floor along with his broken compass with a hollow thump moments later. He didn't even flinch, and snatched his hat from his head and tossed it haphazardly over to his writing desk. It slid across the papers and came to rest balancing on the edge of the table. Next was his sash, which took considerable effort because it required him to unwind the ten or so feet of tattered fabric from his waist. When done, he let the material fall to the floor before stepping out from the circle it had made. Making his way over to the bed, which was looking more than just inviting by now, Jack pulled himself free of his light tunic and simply let it drop to the ground. A slow smile spread across his face as the morning sunlight began to filter through the windows of his quarters, illuminating the ever-present dust motes in the air.

He was about to go straight for the soft covers of his bed when he realized he still wore his boots. Stifling another yawn, he abandoned all practical methods and hunched over, raised his right leg first, took a good grip on the bottom of his boot, and pulled. It took several tugs and much grunting and cursing before the first boot slid off. Tossing it aside with a clunk, Jack let his bare feet meet the cool wooden floor. Then it was onto the next one.

Now, the left boot it always more difficult than the first, a reason still unknown to mankind. A very aggravated and exhausted pirate Captain spent a good minute swearing and yanking on the boot before it flew off. The sudden motion surprised Jack, causing him to tip over and fall onto his back with a deafening thud.

The breath knocked clear from his lungs, the pirate lay there in a moment of pure agony. Then groaning and muttering to himself, he stumbled up from the floor and staggered like a drunkard, arms outstretched as if he were a zombie, before stumbling awkwardly towards the comfort of his bed. Relieved, he flopped face first down onto its softness with a heavenly smile and let his eyes slide shut…

Jack's moment of peace was interrupted by a sudden banging on his door, causing it to shudder on its hinges.

He ignored it.

But the person persisted, this time the banging accompanied by a voice.

"Cap'n? Everything alright in there? Thought I heard a bang!"

It was Gibbs. Jack knew he wouldn't give up without an answer.

Turning his head and shifting his position slightly, Jack called back gruffly."Just fine, Gibbs! Now, if you'd kindly leave me be I'd love to get a bit of shut eye!"

"Aye, Cap'n. I just thought you'd like to know that breakfast's ready! The crew's linin' up and I thought you'd like some 'fore it all be gone!" Gibbs shouted back.

It was about then Jack realized he had a horrible headache, and all the yelling wasn't helping him one bit. Growling to himself, he let an impatient sigh leave his lips before answering. "No, Gibbs, I'm quite all—" he was interrupted by his own stomach, which gurgled loudly at the mention of food. _Damn it to bloody 'ell…_Jack, attempting to control his fleeting temper, shouted back to his first mate in a sickeningly pleasant voice. "Of course, Gibbs, I'll be out in a moment!"

So, Jack was left to redress, pulling his tunic back over his off-white shirt, wrapping his sash back around his waist, buckling his belt, securing his hat, slipping his boots back on and finally snaking his arms through the sleeves of his coat. If he didn't feel like much of a captain at the moment he could at least look it.

By the time he was done, Gibbs had left him, and he exited his room and trudged to the galley, where the typical morning banter was loud and cheery. Taking a deep breath and bracing himself, adjusting his hat slightly, Jack entered the cramped room, holding three tables and six long benches. It was a small galley, but it got the job done. All of Jack's seventy-five men sat cramped at the tables, roaring and guffawing and chatting and joking with each other, slurping and gulping and chewing down Brill's newest creation.

First one man noticed him, a worn old sea dog in his mid-years, whom Jack had known for a few long years in Tortuga before asking him to join his crew no more than a year before. Fowler was his name, and he crowed as loud as a rooster in the morning. Jack had stuck him on lookout his first morning on the ship, and he hadn't failed to alert the crew to passing ships yet. His voice was in full abundance this morning.

"Janey Mack! Me boyo, Jack! Ye look knackered, mate. Heard ye did an all-nighter! Gotcha flah'ed out, 'ay?" he shouted to his Captain, thick Irish brogue in full swing.

And that was that. Jack's presence was given away to the whole crew, who in their turn shouted out greetings, some slapping him roughly on the back as they passed to their seats with a bowl of the mystery meal.

"Glad ta see yer up, Cap'n! Ye know how deary Anamaria gets when she's at the helm!" one sailor piped up; lucky the female pirate wasn't there.

"Aye, and Gibbs gets all puffed up…!" another shouted, nudging the first in the side with a grin.

"Come to join us for a pint of this muck, eh Cap'n?" a forlorn man asked while staring into his bowl with a spoon clutched hesitantly in his hand.

"Ye look right bushed, Cap'n! Hope ya didn't fall asleep at da wheel!" a more or less anonymous voice shouted, causing a bit of ruckus and laughter from all three tables.

Jack frowned at that last statement, rolling his eyes at his eager crew. His head was pounding something terrible and Fowler's offhanded grin wasn't heloing his mood. "Aye, and I suppose you didn't bother to take a shift? Fast asleep in your snug ole hammock, eh?" he mocked the Irishman.

Fowler grinned. "Fair play, Cap'n, but nay! I had a grand ole time up in tha crow's nest an hour or so afore dawn. Though I would expect ya to member when ye was all gee-eyed at the helm. No, no, no!" he stated, and gave the standing man a hearty jab in the side.

He winced. "Aye, and before that you were sleeping while I was sailing, mate," he retorted, but then smiled. "Now lay off and get back to your gruel. I'm off to find something worthwhile for break'ast!" With one last wink Jack was off, weaving his was past his lively crew—his entirely _too_ lively crew—to head for the kitchen. It was a small section of the galley set off for the preparation of food, complete with a stove and food compartments and nothing more.

He met Gibbs on his way in, who came out with a wooden bowl full of gruel, eyeing it hard. He muttered to Jack on his way past, looking less than pleased.

"I dunno what it be, but it swears it smells worse 'n usual, Jack."

Blinking slightly, Jack watched him go with a furrowed brow, but shook it off with a smile. Vivien was helping in the galley today, just as he'd instructed, and he figured that a woman's touch couldn't possibly ruin the food anymore than it already was.

Entering the small kitchen, he snatched up a bowl before joining the line for food, stepping up beside Brill, who stood at the side with a sort of pleased look on his face. He was a rather short man, fat, who wore an apron day and night with grease stains and burn holes. His hair was graying, his eyebrows bushy, but he was clean-shaven and relatively clean for being a cook.

"I think it might be a hit, Captain!" he exclaimed with a grin, rosy cheeks puffed up in pleasure.

Jack cocked an eyebrow at the man. "The food? Since when has it gotten better than slop?"

Brill seemed undeterred by the remark. "This lady you have here, Miss Vivien, she's a jolly good bundle of talent, I suspect. Said she'd never cooked a day of her life and already she's mastered my recipe!"

Restraining himself from telling the man his recipes tasted like a dirty boot had been tossed in and stewed, Jack gave the man a crooked smile. "Aye, I guess we'll have to see then, won't we?" he asked, and the man before him cleared aside with a bowlful of Vivien's creation.

Vivien was standing over a large cauldron bubbling over the stove, stirring it with a large wooden serving ladle in hand with her back turned to him. He listened closely for a moment, waiting, and could have sworn she was muttering some odd French obscenities under her breath. He was about to announce his presence to her when she turned abruptly with a ladle-full of the new concoction, a positively miserable look upon her face—which was looking slightly pale and a bit more green.

She seemed surprised by his sudden appearance for only a moment before depositing the food into his outstretched bowl. At least a quarter of it sloshed over the side onto the floor, but she didn't seem to notice. Instead, leaning forward slightly, she spoke to Jack in a harsh whisper, eyes wide and light brown hair in disarray.

"_Votre__ cuisinier est insensé!"_

Jack was slightly shocked by that remark, and turned his head to give Brill a suspicious sort of look, lips pursed. He had to admit he was slightly concerned for Vivien's health…

The fat man merely smiled cheerily, nodding towards the bowl in his hands. "Try it, I insist!"

Vivien deftly handed Jack a wooden spoon, a thin sheen of sweat across her brow and a hand pressed firmly on her stomach. Jack looked to Brill for an explanation, averting his eyes from the food for a moment.

The cook shrugged with a grimace. "I accidentally told her, since we've not had the chance to restock on supplies for a good while now, the flour was bound to have weevils crawling around in it, eating away at the stuff," he supplied apologetically. "But I made sure to tell her they get killed right quick when the food is cooked or stewed!"

Making a small noise of understanding, Jack finally moved aside for the next man in line, the second to last of the whole crew. Brill scurried to his side as he turned his attention to the food, scooping some of the watery goop up with the spoon. He regarded it a moment, watching the steam steadily rise, before narrowing his eyes somewhat and staring intently. He frowned. Was that? No…it couldn't be…

"Christ…_is it moving?_"he exclaimed to himself, nearly gagging. For indeed, the gruel upon his spoon was moving, squirming this way and that as though alive with little weevils…

Without a moment's notice, Vivien dropped the ladle into the cauldron and clapped a hand to her mouth. All four men in the small space turned to her and stared, Jack himself afraid she was going to vomit right then and there. But no, instead, the young Frenchwoman bolted from the kitchen, shoving past the neglected pirates waiting for food, and was gone within seconds.

Appetite lost, Jack slid the bowl onto the counter, looking slightly sick himself.

Brill seemed surprised. "I supposed that was partly my fault."

Jack was about to voice his displeasure with a string of well-place curses and follow the meek little Frenchwoman out, when a single cry from up on deck managed to carry into the galley.

"LAND HO!"

The words shouted sent the crew into a flurry of movement and noise, and almost immediately Jack's mood cleared up. Offering Brill a grin and slap on the back before, Jack slipped past the man and into the galley while shouting orders at the top of his lungs. He knew the _Pearl _had carried them far overnight, and they had made the progress of a full day in eight or so hours.

"Get to it, you scabrous dogs! You heard it, now get your arses up on deck and help me get this ole gel into port!" he crowed, ushering his crew out of the galley and bounding up the stairs onto deck. Emerging into the morning sunlight, he watched as his crew filtered out from the galley, immediately getting to work on the sails and rigging. "That's right, lads! Heave to! I want us safe in St. Marie by noon, basking in the pubs and filling our guts with liquor with a woman by our sides!"

His orders were received with hearty cheers, and Jack smiled arrogantly to himself, eyes on the lookout for Gibbs, who had his spyglass. It was Anamaria who approached him though, telescope in hand and a small smile on her face.

"You the loud lookout, then?" he asked her with a grin.

Ignoring the comment, she shoved the spyglass into his hands. "Aye, now get captaining, fool. Land's dead ahead, so I suppose ya might have done a good job last night sailing her," she told him grudgingly, not hanging about a moment longer and making her way to the rigging.

Taking a moment to bask in that compliment, Jack glanced up at the helm to see Gibbs in his place, and then scanned the deck with the intention of finding another person. He chuckled to himself when he found her. Vivien was leaning over the port side, heaving her guts out into the sea.

Collapsing the telescope, Jack stuffed it in his belt for temporary keeping. Grinning lighting, he sauntered over to the young woman's side and leaned lightly against the rail as she dry heaved, all the food having already gone from her stomach.

"Deep breaths love," he told her lowly, his hands straying to gather her mousy brown hair at the nape of her neck.

She only seemed to stiffen at his touch, however, and pulled up sharply from the side of the ship, her hair coming loose from Jack's hands. She was still decidedly green, but she felt her stomach settle somewhat as she took Jack's advice. _Deep, even breaths_, _Vivien_, she tried to calm herself. But how humiliating! Her face was heated, no doubt red in embarrassment, but he didn't seem to notice. She groaned in pain, clutching her stomach.

"You didn't happen to take that walk on deck I suggested last night, hmm?" he asked her pointedly.

Vivien's brow furrowed somewhat. Of course not, I trust your crew just as much as I would a cat with a mouse! she wanted to tell him. Instead, "I didn't…"

"Then that solves why you were heaving your guts to the fishes a moment ago, doesn't it?" he started cockily. "Darling, I'll give you advice on advice. Take high regard of mine."

Vivien managed to look indignant. "I was sick because the food was...was _alive_! And _I_ prepared it!"

"Stop moaning about it. You didn't even eat any."

"I-I told you I couldn't cook!" she stuttered awkwardly, near whinging.

"Aye, I know that now. But no worries Vivien m'dear, It wasn't so bad," he grinned at her, only making her face flush more.

"I'm sure," she muttered under her breath.

"Me too," he grinned delightedly, twisting her words. "The crew was eatin' it, weren't they?" And then he pressed the spyglass into her hands before she could protest, while raising a bejewelled hand to gesture forward, across the bow of the ship.

Looking ready to protest, the young woman was rather surprised when Jack cut in.

"Come on, darling, I don't have all day. I've a ship to captain, but I rather thought you'd like to see where we're headed first. Dead ahead, is L'île St. Marie, temporary haven from nasty guardians and such," he smirked at her in amusement, eyes lingering on her own.

This time, Vivien took the spyglass without much hesitation, turning to the bow and lifting it to her eye while squinting ahead. With a moment's help from Jack, his fingers sliding over her own as he stepped up swiftly behind her to help, she was able to see the visible shape of land in the distance through the crusty glass of the telescope. At this distance, she couldn't make out much but the protruding lines of hills. But Jack's presence behind her was slightly unnerving, and she lowered the spyglass quickly and turned to him.

"You took heed of my warning, then?" she asked quietly, holding the instrument out to Jack, eyes averted to the floor.

He took it from her, wishing for a moment she wasn't so timid, for the feeling of a woman in his arms, even if not in an embrace. But he nodded curtly, gaze lingering on her face. "I figured you weren't a fool."

**--**

**Translations:**

Bon appetit - good appetite ;)

Chere vieille maison – dear old house

Capitaine Sparrow, votre odeur est comme le cul d'un singe – Captain Sparrow, you smell like a monkey's ass.

Vieille maison – old house

La maison – the house

Demoiselle gazouiller – twittering maid

Propriété - property

Votre cuisinier est insensé! – Your cook is insane!

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	16. The Unfortunate Three

The Trouble with Women

**Chapter 15**

The Unfortunate Three

**--**

"Any last words before you're tossed from my ship?"

The question was directed to the three men, Beckham, Louis and Bardus. They'd been lined up at the side of the ship to take their punishment, and the whole crew had gathered to watch the event, seemingly very humoured by the three bound and gagged men. Behind them, a long wooden plank had been run out from the side of the _Pearl,_ facing the port on Sainte Marie, where a large pirate town had been built at the edge of the water.

The three men had been hauled up from below decks, dirty and hungry, and were paraded (much to the crew's amusement) across the deck. Jack had insisted Vivien stay to watch during the punishment, and seemed to think the whole thing a great game. She wasn't too sure about that. Running men off the side of ships certainly wasn't something she would have thought to do for fun.

But Jack had persuaded her, giving her no real choice in the manner, and had been forced to stand by Anamaria while the three were ridiculed in front of their crew.

To be sure, Vivien was terrified of the three men, but that didn't mean she couldn't allow them some sort of pity. Especially Bardus, because he seemed entirely too stupid to know what was going on. _All brawn and no brains…_

At the moment, Jack stood before the three pirates, grinning with a sort of smug satisfaction, the crew backing their captain, smirks of equal proportion on their faces.

Louis seemed to be trying to say something from beneath his gag, but was entirely unable to, which sent a ripple of chuckles through the on-looking crew.

Entirely too pleased, Jack cocked an ear at the three. "What's that mate? I can't hear ya!" he exclaimed with mock concentration, smirking the whole time.

Vivien, meanwhile, observed the dirty men around her with a wary sort of eye. Oh yes, they seemed quite entertained by this show of inhumane barbarianism. Even Anamaria had a grin upon her face! Never had she felt more out of place in her life! Why hadn't Jack allowed herself to hole up in her cabin? It was enough to know the men had been forced off the ship; she didn't have to see it!

Louis had given up and was now glaring silently at his captain.

"What? You've got nothing to say for yourself?" Jack cocked an eyebrow at them, seemingly shocked, before a look of utter realization spread across his face. "Oh, right! You can't very well say anything with socks in your mouths, now can ye?"

The crew laughed.

Beckham looked enraged, as though wanting nothing more than to tear the shorter man to shreds with his bare hands. If they weren't tied behind his back, that is. Louis, on the other hand, seemed a bit calmer, while Bardus seemed more frightened than anything.

"Ah, get on wit' it, Cap'n!" one of the crewmen cried, to which Jack spun around and glared at them for hastening his moment of pure victory. But it only took a few moments for a sly smirk to break through onto his face once more, and heturned with a flourish of hands to eye the three accused pirates. They looked pitiful.

"Aye, we'll get on with it!" he said, and his few golden teeth glinted in the warm sunlight. "Gibbs, Sam, be so kind as to remove those gags from our trio's mouths. I'm sure they're not the best tasting things."

However, as soon as the three were free of their speaking inhibitions, they were spouting various obscenities at Jack, seemingly doing their best insult both captain and crew.

"I hope yer stinkin' ship gets blown to pieces by a navy vessel an' rots in Davy Jones' locker!" Beckham glared at his former Captain, spitting down at Jack's boots.

"Aye, and I tell ye you'd be a better Captain hanging from the short end of a long rope, Sparrow!" Louis snarled like some sort of feral dog.

Bardus, being too stupid, said nothing.

No one but the three saw the momentary darkening of the pirate Captain's face, and even as it flashed there for a moment, it was gone with a dark smile. Now, perhaps, was Jack's favourite part, other than running the men off the end of the plank, that is. He quite enjoyed bringing the men who dared break the Code down to their true height by denouncing them from his _Pearl._

Jack grinned. "Very well then, I'll commence with the disembarking of you three slimy weasels from my crew, and enjoy every moment of it," he announced..

Vivien watched, apprehensive, from her spot beside Anamaria. She was jostled in with the rest of the crew, who gave a hearty cry and a chorus of whistles at their Captain's words.

He continued in a jaunty tone, hands waving wildly, enjoying himself completely. "I, Jack Sparrow, as Captain of there 'ere ship, the _Black Pearl, _hereby declare you three gutless cads, Beckham, Bardus and Louis, forfeit from the ship's articles. You, lads, are no longer under the protection of the _Black Pearl_ and her crew, and if I ever have the misfortune of seein' your three ugly faces again, I'm afraid I may have to run you through with my sword! And, while I'm at it, I think I'll mention that anyone with enough spine to approach our dear Vivien Brideau with anything other than honourable intentions, won't suffer the same as these three!" he declared, and turned to eye the crew. "Nay, they'll receive ten lashes and be thrown into the sea and bleed for the sharks! Savvy?"

Dutifully, the whole of the crew replied with a loud "Aye!" for they knew Jack wouldn't be pleased if they didn't agree. Some eyes turned towards the short Frenchwoman beside Anamaria, trying to shrink into the floor. She still couldn't tell if they had accepted her presence or not, but being under Jack's protection gave her mind a bit of relief. She blushed a deep scarlet, and received a hearty jab in the ribs by Anamaria, who was chuckling to herself.

"Jack's awfully protective of you, lass," she murmured out of the corner of her mouth, grinning.

Vivien stayed silent. _Of course, I'm the equivalent of a very valuable treasure map that leads to a very large fortune…_

Jack continued, satisfied with the answer from his men. "Now, as a punishment, Gibbs 'ere and I have decided to run you three bastards off the _Pearl_ in nothing but your skivvies!" he pronounced, planting his hands firmly on his hips and smirking devilishly, dark eyes glinting as he stared down his nose at the three culprits. How that was possible would never be known, however, because all three men were at least a few inches taller than Jack. It didn't seem to bother him the slightest, however, and the crew were highly enjoying their Captain's humorous display of authority.

Anamaria spoke to Vivien out of the corner of her mouth. "It's not every day we get to see men run off our plank! I fear Sparrow rather enjoys running mutineers off the ship, despite having it done to him twice!" she grinned.

Vivien cast her a quizzical look, somewhat struck by the thought of Jack being run off the plank into the ocean. Her musing was interrupted, however, by Jack's voice.

He had turned to address his men once more, hands straying to dance about in the air. "Now, I told myself, Jack ol' boy, this couldn't get much better! Until I realized that us pirates don't often wear skivvies!"—at this point Vivien had once again turned beet red—"So, what's better than walking a man off a plank in his underwear when you can run 'em off when they're stark naked?"

The Frenchwoman seemed to cringe away from the rowdy crew as they exploded into what could only be named as guffaws. Loud, raucous, guffaws. The kind of laughter that brought tears to one's eyes. But truth be told, she didn't seem very amused herself. Anamaria seemed to notice her unease, and rolled her eyes in slight exasperation.

Jack, however, seemed quite pleased with crew's reaction.

"I believe everyone agrees on this one, men," he told the three accused as he turned back to them. "So, off with the clothes!"

Beckham snarled. "On your life, Sparrow!" he taunted, holding his head high.

Within seconds, Jack's sword had been drawn and a thin line was slashed down the front of his shirt. It slowly fluttered open in the breeze, showing it to be cut straight through.

Jack grinned smugly. "Not likely, Beckham. Now turn 'round." He motioned for Gibbs to come over. "Cut their bonds, mate."

Muttering to himself, the portly man pulled a short dagger from his belt and set about sawing off the ropes holding the three men's hands behind their backs. When he was done, he turned a critical on all three. "May ye pray the fishes aren't bitin', lads!" he chuckled to himself, and then stood back as Jack took command once more.

The next part Vivien didn't see, for she had turned an almost impossible shade of red and turned away, Anamaria's chuckles behind her.

Jack noticed this, and smiled to himself at her embarrassment. She was obviously an innocent, and he couldn't help but be angered to know that the three fools before him could have taken it away from her. _Before I had the chance, _he thought to himself slyly, but glared at his captives. "I'll not ask you another time, mates. Off with the clothes," he ordered firmly.

None moved an inch.

So, Jack took matters into his own hands, and with a flick of his sword, Beckham's breeches were a mound of cloth piled around his boots. The crew howled with laughter as he was exposed, naked, for all to see.

Jack cocked an eyebrow at them, swaying forward slightly. "You want me to do it for you?" he mocked.

Without any further protest, and within a mater of minutes, the three men had discarded all their clothes as well as their boots on the deck and stood naked as they day they were born.

"Good, good, now line up nicely, mates," Jack urged, prodding the men in their backs until they were standing before the wooden plank in a line, with Louis in the front. He turned to scowl at Jack.

"I meant what I said, you fool! You'd do better captaining a ship from a noose than at the helm!" he sneered, but the object of his scorn didn't seem to affected.

Jack merely smiled. "And I meant what I said. If I ever see your sorry face in a port where I've docked, the last thing you'll see is my sword in your gut," he shot back, eyes cold. "Get off."

Surprisingly, Louis did so without question, and the crew cheered as he hit the water. He bobbed up moments later and began to swim to shore. Jack called after him, grinning once more, satisfied with the jump. "You'd best keep your nose out of my way when I'm in town, too, Louis!" he hollered over the waters, but the Frenchman made no real sign of hearing him. Jack knew he had, though, because his strokes seemed to come faster.

Bardus was next, who offered no real struggle and got nothing save a sharp jab from Jack's sword to get him running off the plank. He fell into the water in an ungraceful heap, and followed Louis as he swam to shore.

Beckham, however, had to be hauled onto the plank by two crewmembers, and once there stood glaring defiantly at Jack, somehow managing to look imposing despite being naked and unarmed. "This ain't no bloody pirate ship! It's more like a bleedin' hen frigate!"

"I had a feeling you were gonna give me trouble," Jack muttered to himself before stepping up to the side of the ship, one boot on the plank. The whole crew watched in anticipation.

Beckham narrowed his eyes. "You'll get what's comin' to ye, Sparrow," he warned.

Pulling his gun from his belt, Jack ran a lazy finger down the barrel. "Aye, dam right I will! And right now what's comin' to me is a barrel of rum and a woman or two on my arm!" he declared, and many of the crew couldn't help but smile. Stern, he urged the man off the edge of the plank with his gun. "Go on, go on, step back a bit before I shoot ya. Come on, man, I don't have all day! The rum's waitin' for me!"

Beckham scowled, but turned nonetheless, and dived naked from the plank, hitting the water with a loud splash.

The crew burst into cheers, and Jack stepped down from the plank, shouting to be heard over the noise. "Get this mess cleaned up, men!" he waved to the clothes on the deck. "Ready the boats! We're headed for the taverns!" His orders were met with another cheer, and Gibbs patted him heartily on the back as he passed.

Vivien still had her back turned, and Anamaria pulled her around, grinning.

"Come on, lass, I'm sure there's some use to ya. Maybe you can help with the—" she was cut off abruptly by an interrupting voice.

"No need Anamaria. I've already got this sorted out," Jack butted in, standing behind the two women.

They turned, Vivien looking confused. Anamaria folded her arms across her chest, looking expectant.

"She isn't going ashore," he explained lightly, an infuriating half-smile on his lips.

The mulatto woman arched an eyebrow at him. "She's not? I would have thought a few hours off this ship would do her good."

Jack bit back a laugh. "Here? Like dropping a hen in a pen full o' cats—or cocks, whichever you prefer." He gave Anamaria a pointed look, "You, however, are. So go help those bloody fools with the boats while I escort our guest down below."

Anamaria looked to be fighting down saying something nasty, but squashed it and nodded stiffly, offering the Frenchwoman a small smile before marching off towards a group of incompetent pirates tangling the ropes holding the boats above the water, shrieking at the top of her lungs the whole way.

Vivien turned to address the odd captain, only to find herself accosted by said man, he with an arm thrown casually and deliberately over her shoulders and directing her towards the hatch leading down below. She tried hard not to cringe away from his touch, and was led down the set of steps.

"As I said, you'll not set a foot upon Sainte Marie's shore, precisely because this port is a pirate town, with pirates not as friendly as myself," he announced, pulling her along with him as they descended the stairs to the decks below.

Vivien felt the urge to defend herself. "And I never said I'd want to," she retorted, sounding affronted.

This caused Jack to stop, and he slid his arm from her shoulders to stand before her, a smile that showed one golden tooth in the dim light below deck. "I confess I'm starting to enjoy the newfound sharpness of your tongue," he said, and took hold of her wrist this time, tugging her along after him.

They made their way past the gun deck, and he pulled her gently out into the small passageway where the few cabins were, as well as the crew's quarters. The whole time, Vivien subtly attempted to free her wrist from his grasp, still not quite trusting the man. And touching, touching was a no-no. Vivien despised being touched, and being dragged along while being touched was even worse! But, needless to say, her struggles didn't work, and just as unnoticeably, it seemed, Jack's grip tightened around her wrist.

"I hope you don't mind staying down below while we're on shore," he started up again, and Vivien could tell he wasn't the least bit sincere. Anything with this man was rarely heartfelt. It was all a game of sorts, him with his cleverly placed words and mannerisms. She's known him for four days now and she figured she's only gained in learning his name and love for alcohol (rum, in particular).

Stopping suddenly, he turned to face her, wrists flaccid while his hands waved. "I don't want to attract any unwanted attention, and since you seem to believe your guardian…wotsisname?" he pursed his lips, trying to recall if she'd ever told him his name. She had, hadn't she? Maybe he'd been drunk at the time?

"Dorian…Dorian Belfast," was the tentative yet complied answer.

He couldn't help but think how familiar that name sounded. "Dorian Belfast…" he tried it on his own tongue, attempting to jog his memory a bit. "Aye…since you seem to think this Belfast'll be after me for sweeping your fair self from Bourbon, I'd like to be as inconspicuous as possible."

Somehow, Vivien didn't think that was likely…

She was yanked forward again, down the narrow hall with doors on each side. And she suddenly realized that they'd walked right on past her own cabin. They were now headed for his own, the door at the very end of the hallway. "Wait! Wait, Captain Sparrow! We've passed my cabin!" she exclaimed, digging her heels into the floor in an attempt to wrestle herself free.

But Jack Sparrow seemed adamant that he follow her. He was headed for his quarters, and continued on speaking as though nothing was out of the ordinary. "One thing you have to understand, love, is that is a pirate town. And in being a pirate town, there's bound to be a good many pirates running about. The street vendor's a pirate, the baker is a pirate, the bartender's a pirate. I wouldn't be surprised if the bloody strumpets'ave tried their hands at being pirates," he chattered, and pulled Vivien forward, bracing his hands on her shoulders and propelling her into his cabin.

She stumbled forward slightly before whirling about, looking slightly peeved. "Yes, and that's why I'm not allowed ashore, right?"

"Exactly!" he exclaimed, a grin upon his face. "So I suspect you won't have a problem staying in here, to hasten attention from yourself?" he implored, cocking his head.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Without an answer, Jack gave her a sort of mocking bow before turning about, the hems of his overcoat swaying, before slipping out the door and closing it behind him—on squeaky hinges—all before Vivien could get a word in edgewise.

She might have stood there a good minute or so pondering over the recent happening if she hadn't heard a telltale and fateful _click _from the door. He wouldn't…he didn't? Did he? He did! Panicked, Vivien flung herself forward, hands latching onto the doorknob and trying to twist it back. It was all in vain, however, as the door didn't budge.

Jack's muffled voice came through the door a moment later. "A man'll be on watch, making sure you don't get out and no one gets in, so I wouldn't try to pick the lock," he announced, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

_Pirate bâtard!_

She pressed herself to the door, a panicked look crossing her face. "What's the meaning of this? Our accord required a certain amount of _trust, _Sparrow! I find it disheartening that you're abusing that!" she cried. Whatever spurred this sudden change in attitude, she had no clue, but she did know she didn't like it. Surely safe passage didn't mean being confined below decks? And in his own cabin no less! _Entièrement_ _inappropri_!

Vivien didn't really expect him to answer, but his voicecame through the wood a moment later.

"Pirate, Vivien, remember that! And it's not a matter of me trusting you, it's a matter of that I don't entirely trust you to keep yourself safe!" he countered, amused.

Oh yes, she knew he was laughing at her…

"I'm no fool! You said so yourself! You expect me to go running headlong into danger?" she beseeched, flustered. She could feel a humiliated blush rising on her cheeks, although there was no one there to see it. Thankfully.

"Aye, but I never said you were bright, either!"

A direct blow to her pride! The nerve of the man! How dare he lock her up and insult her!

"_Vaurien_!" she shrieked at him. "Sparrow! You-you let me out! N-now!" Oh dear, how could she get the man to take her seriously with a tremble to her voice?

She could hear him chuckle. "I'm terribly sorry, Vivien, but I can't have anyone snatching you from under my nose, now can I? You're very valuable and I suspect word of my journey here has caught some unwanted ears along the way." There it was again, that false sincerity, seemingly meant only to rub her the wrong way and anger her to no end.

"But you cannot keep me in here!" she cried at him.

"But I can. And I swear you'll thank me later, love!" he countered, smugly, and she could almost hear an inevitable grin in his voice.

She let loose a cry of frustration. "You-you! _Vous__ mal petit homme!" _she cursed angrily.

"Now, now, there's no need for harsh words. You just settle in and I'll be back in no time at all!" he replied, unfazed by her fury, his voice fading.

Vivien pounded her fists against the hard wood. "Jack Sparrow! Come back here!"

She waited for an answer, but was met with silence. Now, her shoulders sagged, hands slipping from the door as she sighed with defeat. Turning so her back was to the door, she slowly eased herself down to the floor, arms crossed like some petulant child. How dare he?

Jack, meanwhile, bounded up the stairs into the fresh sea air with a grin on his face, a key safe in his pocket, and a Vivien Brideau locked safely in his cabin. His crew, he noticed, had lowered all the boats to the water. The deck was empty, and as he approached the side, saw a good portion of the pirates already on their way to the island.

Leaning over, he spied Gibbs, Cotton and two other men, Thomas Nob and Kamau, a tall, slim black man.

"You seadogs the boat to shore?" he called down.

It was Kamau who answered. "Aye, Captain! Come aboard before we leave you behind! Or would you rather stay with your lady friend?" he teased.

Scowling, Jack grabbed onto a the rope ladder hanging down to the water. He scaled down the side of the _Pearl_ with an effortlessness ease, stepping down into the dinghy boat with a cocked eyebrow. "My lady friend? I'm afraid she's quite peeved with me at the moment."

Three of the four men sniggered good-naturedly.

"Locked her in your cabin, did you?" Gibbs asked wryly as Thomas and Kamau managed the oars and propelled the boat from the side of the _Pearl_

Jack regarded the men with a smirk. "Oh yes, and I suppose you could here her screamin' from up here?"

Gibbs nodded with a small smile on his lips. "Lungs like banshee, she has."

Thomas, a sailor turned pirate, who still wore a white powdered wig, regarded his captain with grin. "But why your cabin, Cap'n?" he taunted.

He'd known it was coming. "I figured sitting in my cabin for half a day is better than sitting in hers," he stated plainly.

"You be going soft, Jack," Gibbs grumbled ruefully.

The men chuckled, exchanging winks and nudges.

"No I ain't," Jack snapped, good mood ruined. "I suppose you heard her cursing at me? She certainly don't like me much."

The parrot atop Cotton's shoulder must have thought otherwise, for the next moment it was squawking loudly, "Whistling psalms to the taffrail! Whistling psalms to the taffrail!" Flapping its wings impatiently, it took flight from Cotton's shoulder.

Gibbs, joined by remainder of the boat's occupants, broke out into laughter. "Aye, Jack," he agreed with his Captain, but his grin betrayed him.

"_Captain_," Jack corrected irritably.

"Right."

**--**

Vivien must have sat on that floor for a good ten minutes before she realized that sulking would get her nowhere. Especially when there was no one around to see her sulk. That effectively took away the reason to sulk, so she settled on sighing dramatically before picking herself up off the floor and staring at the elaborate space around her.

Jack's quarters hadn't changed much the last four days from the time she had first awoken aboard the _Black __Pearl._ Still scattered with dusky, empty bottles of rum with a desk overflowing with papers and maps, as well as a large, luxurious bed that sat unmade, pillows on the floor and sheets hanging off the edges. As well, it still smelt of rum and dust, and sunlight was pouring through the porthole by the bed.

She stood for a moment, her fingers running absently along her dress, glancing about the messy room and wondering what she was to do for the time that he would be gone. And, from his speech earlier while Beckham walked the plank, she decided that would be a long while. He had spoken of rum and women. Willing women, no doubt. Prostitutes…

She huffed to herself and stalked over to the bed, plopping herself down with a scowl upon her face. Really, why must Jack go gallivanting off with whores while she was locked in his cabin? And why did the thought of him doing such...piratical things, make her sick to her stomach and somewhat green? Surely she wasn't envious, because Jack Sparrow was such a scoundrel and a cad for kidnapping her and making her work aboard his ship she couldn't possibly fathom being anything but repulsed by the man!

Sighing once more, Vivien stood up and made her way to the window, a deep frown upon her face. From her spot on the _Pearl _she had a clear view of L'île Sainte Marie.

She took a moment to stare at the many ships decorating the port, the smaller ones anchored right near the sand while the larger ones had dropped anchor in deeper waters and were crowding each other for at least a mile each way. The myriad of rickety docks led up to a rather large town, clearly prospering well by the number of buildings that had cleared out the surrounding forest. The town rose gently on a small hill, bordered on all sides by green foliage. She could just barely make out the sight of several roads making their way from the town into the thick jungle. No doubt leading to other small coves on the island and other towns just as the one before her.

She longed to be ashore, no matter how dangerous it might be. The ship was confining, smelly, and riddled with stray slivers just waiting to be lodged into unsuspecting feet. She wanted to feel the sand and _sol solide _beneath her feet, not the swaying of a ship beneath her!

_Connard. _She was, of course, referring to Jack.

Frustrated, she crossed her arms and cast an eye about for something to occupy her time. Her gaze immediately landed on the large bookshelf along the wall opposite the bed and she found her curiosity got the better of her.

Now, truth be told, she had never imagined Jack to be a stupid man, for he had to be somewhat clever to have kidnapped her from under Belfast's nose, but she hadn't really given a thought to his intelligence. Of course, he was a pirate, and most pirates were uneducated and from a lower class than herself, so she hadn't taken into consideration that Jack might be able to read. According to most, he was lower in stature than a commoner, and commoner's certainly couldn't read—or write.

As Vivien stepped up to survey the many books before her, another thought came to mind. Jack may be a pirate, but he was also a Captain, and a duty of Captaining was being able to read maps, and make maps, was it not?

The first title she read was of _Philosophiae__ Naturalis Principis Mathematica, _something that came as a bit of a shock to her. The book was by Issac Newton, an Englishman with a penchant for science. His influence had even spread to Bourbon and she found it a surprise Jack Sparrow would read into science. And even more, she found _The Proficience and Advancement of Learning_ was halfway out of the shelf, a clear sign it had been read recently. She left them be, reasoning that he'd merely found them by coincidence, perhaps while raiding.

Unnerved, she moved on, skimming the titles in a bit of a stupor. Romances, comedies and tragedies. From _King John _to _Hamlet. _There was _Julius Caesar, _and _The__ Taming of the Shrew. Bonduca, The Tamer Tamed _and_ The Two Noble Kinsmen, _all titles she was somewhat familiar with.

She'd never in her life figured Jack for Shakespeare, so it was an even bigger surprise when she stumbled upon _Don Quijote, _a book she had read herself. But this one was printed in Spanish, and when she tugged it out from the tightly packed shelf she noticed the pages were creased at the edges and well read. But Vivien didn't know Spanish, and marveled that Jack did, or might, and tucked it back away. Too bad he hadn't bothered to seek out an English print.

Cautiously, Vivien crouched down and ran her finger along another row of books, eyes wide at the sheer immensity of Jack's collection. No doubt being a pirate paid well. She would bet every book sitting on that shelf was either stolen or looted from ships he had raided over the years. And by a smaller collection of books towards the bottom of the shelf, she could tell he'd had no shortage of French ships on his raids.

Descartes and Jean Baptiste Rancine were shelved beside Molière and, surprisingly, Marie de la Fayette. She looked over the familiar titles, searching for a particular book. Something to keep her occupied. Something that wasn't full of pessimistic points of view and love-struck ladies stabbing themselves to death over love. Much to her chagrin, none of the French books were to her tastes. Instead, she backtracked to a large volume, _Comedies, Tragedies and Histories,_ by Shakespeare.

She pulled the dusty volume from its place, held it tightly, and straightened up, her eyes once more skimming over the many titles.

Maybe Jack Sparrow had as many, if not more, secrets as herself.

Shaking her head, she made her way back over to Jack's large bed, and smoothing the covers over slightly (she wouldn't be caught dead making the man's bed!) she lay down in his pillows and cracked open the book to _A Midsummer Night's Dream. _Nothing _too _melodramatic.

Green eyes read the first few lines, frustration already seeping away as the story took hold of her…

_Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour  
Draws on apace; four happy days bring in  
Another moon; but, oh, methinks, how slow  
This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,  
Like to a step-dame or a dowager,  
Long withering out a young man's revenue_…

Several hours later, as the sun sank into the ocean and Vivien was forced to light a lantern. Jack was still not back from the town, and no one save the sentry thatplodded past Jack's door every half hour was aboard.

Vivien fell asleep not much later, the book still open in her hands, light brown hair spread carelessly across the crisp white pillows. The candle within the lantern waned, golden light leaving her freckled face before darkness fell.

**--**

For anyone who's confused, all of the books and authors mentioned in this chapter are, or were, real.

_The Proficience and Advancement of Learning _is by Francis Bacon

_King John, Hamlet,_ _Julius Caesar, The Taming of the Shrew _and _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ are all by Shakespeare

_Bonduca__, The Tamer Tamed _and_ The Two Noble Kinsmen _are by John Fletcher

_Don Quijote _is Don Quixote, by Don Miguel de Cervantes y Saavedra

**French Translations: (Pardon Vivien's French!)**

Entièrement inapproprié! – Completely inappropriate!

Pirate bâtard! – Bastard pirate!

Vaurien - scoundrel

Vous mal petite homme! – You evil little man!

Sol solide – soild ground

Connard – jerk

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	17. Trouble in Nosy Boraha

**The Trouble with Women**

**Chapter 16**

Trouble in Nosy Boraha

**--**

Ambodiforaha. Jack recalled that was the name of the largest pirate town on the eastern half of the world, the same town he strolled through at that very moment. Years ago, a native tribe had built it on the southern stretch of L'île Sainte Marie, hence the painful pronunciation that only the locals could seem to pull off.

The small sliver of an island was nothing short of a pirate kingdom, something some men could only dream about. Jack had only felt more at home in one place, the Caribbean. And as fond as he was of Sainte Marie, he rarely made it over to this side of the world to enjoy its pleasures. And bountiful with many pleasures it was, raunchy and lawless. Tortuga only beat the comfort of the place by a smidgeon, and only because he'd been practically raised there.

Countless ships flying the Jolly Roger sailed into port, joining the ones already docked there, each there for the same reason. A safe haven from the navy, whichever one it was. Jack had encountered more than enough in his years.

"_The Maiden's Head, _did ye say, Cap'n?" a voice asked, snapping Jack out a reverie he'd been wandering around in ever since tying up the boat at the dock and beholding the marvels before him.

He stopped abruptly, turned to face the four men he'd come ashore with. They were staring at him expectantly.

"That's right," he confirmed after a moment then realized they were standing outside said tavern by the crude picture and words on a sign hanging above him.

No, not good at all. It was better to be _in_ that out.

Without waiting for his fellows Jack swept inside, pushing open the doors to reveal a rowdy group of pirates spread around the tables playing cards, drinking, and engaging in those meaningless fights that seemed to have a purpose while one was drunk but lost all sensibility when one awoke on the floor with a broken nose and a hangover.

Eyes searching the place, Jack discreetly told the four to find a table as well as to keep an eye out for his wandering crew before departing towards the bar. There was a particular purpose in mind when he'd chosen this tavern. It wasn't the cleanest, the service was nothing short of rubbish, and the rum was somewhat rank in taste, but there was a man he had to find.

Taking a seat away from the rest of the company, Jack tugged the rim of his hat down somewhat to hide his face in shadows. He patted his pockets carefully; making sure a fat purse he'd managed to lift of an equally fat man was still within. Satisfied the gold hadn't run off, he crossed his arms over the bar top and waited for service. After a minute or so, a man with a stained apron came bustling over, wiping a wet glass clean with a dirty cloth.

"What can I get ye?" he asked, his voice clipped and hurried.

Jack kept his head low as to avoid any unwanted attention as well as any familiar faces. "Actually, I'm lookin' for a—" he started with a slur, but was cut off abruptly as the man slammed the glass noisily down on the bar top—giving Jack quite a start—and leaned down to crane his head so he could see the pirate's face. There was a grin on his lips.

"Jack Sparrow? That you?" the man asked with much gusto, hand shooting forward to tip the hat up. "Aye, tis! I knew I'd see you 'gain one day!"

The urge to shoot the man for being so nosy left the pirate as he recognized the voice. "Eugene?" he inquired almost hesitantly, replacing the hat firmly on his head and peering at the man.

Eugene grinned madly. "Aye! Tis me, Eugene Bernard, still stuck on this worthless spit o' land!" he exclaimed, and leaned forward to examine Jack. "How long 'as it been, mate?"

Looking much less enthusiastic than the man before him, Jack managed a withering smile. "Obviously not long enough," he muttered, but before the bartender could get in a word, continued on, perking up considerably. "Got me _Pearl_ back, I did. Not but a year ago."

Eugene's enthusiasm didn't seem dampened by Jack's sarcasm. "Hah! Just like I knew ye would! Listen mate, what can I get ye? It's on me, per say…"

Sighing gratefully, as alcohol was something his system was lacking at the moment, he replied without decision. "Rum, and a bit of information…if you would be so kind," he grinned, but it lacked his usual cheer. This grin was more sinister. Eugene knew it well, he'd seen it on the same man seven years before, haunted with the loss of his ship.

"Aye, sure mate, no problem," the bartender nodded, holding a finger up. "Just gimme a minute and I'll be back with your rum and an open ear." And with that said, he slipped away.

Jack pulled his hat down on his head once more, preferring to remain inconspicuous. Turning his head slightly, he surveyed the tavern behind him. He spotted Gibbs with several of his crew, roaring with laughter at something or other, spilling a tankard of rum down his middle. That seemed normal. Nothing seemed out of place, and Jack figured he was just being paranoid. Was he really going to let Vivien's fright overtake him, too? Not bloody likely! Although…it didn't hurt to be cautious…

"'Ere ye are, Jack, finest in all the Indian Ocean. Got one of me lads to sack a ship off India's coast a month or so ago," Eugene announced, slamming a tankard down before the pirate before leaning forward on his elbows. "Now, tell me what you been up to! What's brought you back to ole Nosy Boraha?"

Jack took hold of the tankard, bringing it to his nose briefly to sniff the contents, and after a moment deemed it safe to drink. One could never be too careful, and Eugene seemed to understand. "Business," he answered, "and I hope you don't mind if I refrain from telling you what it's about. I'm sure there're a few unwanted listeners lurking about here."

Eugene cast a glance around his tavern. "Too true, too true…" he muttered, but then turned an ear to Jack. "Well…what's this information you were after, then? Can't say I'll be much help but I'm better than nothin'."

Jack tipped the tankard up to his lips, letting the alcohol slid between his lips, heating his throat and warming his belly. Half of it was already downed by the time he got around to speaking. "I'm wondering if you've heard anyone mention my name around 'ere the past few days. The help would be…much obliged…" Then, almost magically, two gold coins were spread between Jack's nimble fingers, right underneath Eugene's nose.

The barkeep's eyes darted from Jack back to the two coins repeatedly before he spoke. His voice sounded careful. "Nay, Jack, I can't say that I 'ave…not here in Ambodiforaha, that is."

Jack arched a speculative eyebrow, the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips. "Really? Nothing at all? What about a woman? A Frenchwoman with a fortune?"

Eugene's eyes were glued to the gold as it was held tantalizingly before him. Jack could hear the man's breathing speed up slightly.

"Nay, nothing at all…"

"Ah…well that's too bad…" he moved to slip the coins into his pocket, but the wiry man lunged, his upper body splayed over the grimy bar top. There was a look of desperation on his face.

"B-but, for…lets say…two more o' those lovely coins, I can promise ye my ear's as well as other's will be open at all times."

Jack smirked. He'd got the man now. Deftly, he produced two more gold coins and set all four firmly on the bar top. "All information will be appreciated. My ship is docked in the west side of the harbour."

"A-aye, Jack. Count on me, mate."

"Good man," Jack grinned triumphantly, dropping four coins down under the barkeep's nose and patting him on the shoulder. Happily, he pushed off the barstool and made to leave, but not before turning back on his heel and snatching his tankard up. Saluting the man with the rum, he winked before traipsing over to his crew.

The remainder of the day was spent in _The Maiden's Head_, the crew of the _Black Pearl _slowly filtering in after finishing their business and buying whatever they may have needed. They'd managed to bring half the town into the tavern, news of Jack Sparrow and his tales attracting many a person. And, Jack got _exactly_ what was coming to him, much to his infinite enjoyment. Too much rum and a gaggle of women clustered about him as he weaved one of his farfetched tales. _Willing_ women, unlike the stiff little chit he'd locked up in his cabin earlier.

In fact, little Vivien Brideau hardly crossed his mind the whole day, as the rum seemed to ease his mind and he became much looser, in words and actions. Of course, consuming an ever-flowing tankard of rum did that to a man, and Jack only decided to retire to bed when the day finally caught up to him. He hadn't managed a wink in twenty four hours, and after a drunken Anamaria had commented on the dark circles under his eyes (although it could have very well been the kohl), he was convinced it was time for him to leave.

So, Jack Sparrow bid his crew a good night as darkness fell on Sainte Marie, and bowed to the ladies (who were very disappointed he hadn't decided to stay longer) before staggering out the door and onto the streets. It was a very good thing he wasn't in a respectable town, because the navy would be on him in a minute. Jack had never been very quiet when he was drunk, to the entire way back to his ship, including the time spent rowing, he'd managed to bellow out several badly done sea-shanties, and earning scattered applause from passer bys.

When he did reach the _Pearl, _he had to have the man on guard duty, Sam, help him up lest he tumble backwards into the sea. If he were sober this would have embarrassed him a mite, but since he wouldn't remember it come morning no harm was done. Except on the steps down below when he'd managed to trip over his own boots and topple down the rest. He'd called an incoherent "Evr'thin's savvy so get back ta work!" upto Sam as he'd come to aid his Captain, and managed to pop back up from thedeck as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Brushing himself off, he swayed down the hall towards his quarters and was somewhat dismayed when the door wouldn't open for him no matter how much he wiggled the knob.

A light must have gone off in his rum-soaked brain for he managed to dig a small silver key out of his overcoat pocket and stick it into the keyhole. Then, voila, the door opened for him and Jack stumbled inside, loosing his balance slightly when the world seemed to sway before his eyes. But he still managed to close the door, albeit loudly, before proceeding to undress himself.

The hat went on the desk, the coat on the chair; the boots on the floor, the vest…the vest went on the floor too. He began to unwind the long red and white sash around his waist while making his way towards the bed. Minus the usual helpful light from his lantern, it was somewhat of a difficult task, but the cloth fell to the floor in a shapeless puddle of fabric beside the bed, defeated. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, after all.

With a sigh, he flopped down on the edge of his bed, pulling his shirt over his head and using the sleeve to rub the kohl from his eyes before tossing it onto the growing pile of clothes decorating his floor. His fingers just began to work on the buttons of his breeches when a rather odd noise came from behind him. A rather human-like snort…much like a snore.

Jack's fingers halted their work, looking very confused. He sat there a moment, bemused, before slowly turned to look over his shoulder.

And what a surprise it was to find Vivien curled up, asleep on _his_ bed, her head on _his_ pillows, one of _his_ books in her arms. A page was marked with a finger.

After a moment, the surprise wore off as he realize he had been the one to lock her up in his room in the first place, merely to keep the woman out of trouble. Because she seemed strangely attracted to it…or maybe it was the other way around. But either way, he'd completely forgotten about her and was somewhat put off that she was asleep in his bed.

That is, until he noticed what a pretty picture she made, what with her eyelashes resting gently on her cheeks and freckles highlighted in the moonlight streaming inthrough the porthole. Her lips parted the slightest, her hair splayed around her in a dark halo. And the way she'd managed to curl her arms protectively around the book and herself, knees bent into her chest, her skirts hiked up just the slightest so he could see her feet intertwined and the smooth skin of her calves.

That was when Jack Sparrow decided he was infinitely lucky to have Vivien asleep in his bed, and carefully manoeuvred himself into a position facing her (after doing up the buttons on his breeches, of course). Some coherent part of his brain warned him that Vivien would not be pleased if she found a completely naked Jack Sparrow sleeping next to her in the morrow. That same part of his brain conveniently decided not to warn Jack that Vivien also wouldn't be very happy at all if she found him sleeping next to her in the morning.

He propped himself up on one elbow, dark eyes watching the young woman for a moment before they strayed to the large book clutched in her arms. That wouldn't do, he decided, and scooted himself forward to tug the book from her embrace. Surprisingly, she let it loose easily, and her arms instead went for something else to grasp. One of his pillows. Her breathing remained steady, however. She hadn't awoken, and Jack couldn't help but grin. At first glance she didn't seem like a heavy sleeper at all. More of the type to wake at ever small creak in the wall or tap on the floor.

He glanced at the title of the book and read the name, Shakespeare, before cracking it open and reading the page she had marked.

_Oh take the sense, sweet of my innocence, _

_Love takes the meaning in love's conference,_

_I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit_

_So that but one heart we can make of it; _

_Two bosoms interchained with an oath;_

_So then two bosoms and a single troth. _

_Then by your side no bed-room me deny;_

_For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie…_

Blinking slightly, he closed it with a soft snort. Not one of his fondest books. He recalled lifting it off an English ship a few months before, and but he supposed she had to keep herself occupied somehow. Vaguely, he hoped she hadn't gone snooping around his maps. He'd have to clean them up tomorrow…

Jack let the book slide to the floor, much to fatigued to replace it on the shelf. _Another thing to do tomorrow…_he told himself, and settled back down onto the bed with a smile. He was facing Vivien again, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. He would admit he was tempted to lean over a bit closer to get a closer peak, but the look of unawares on her sleeping face was enough to halt him.

Instead, the pirate reached out with his hand, running a grimy finger gently over her round cheek, watching carefully for any signs of her waking. There was nothing, and he ventured onto the bridge of her nose, counting several freckles as he skimmed a finger down to her lips. Soft, plump lips, untouched by any man, he would bet. Vivien hardly seemed like a woman for kissing, or a woman experienced with kissing.

Smirking to himself, he ran his fingers over her chin, down across her neck…

The young woman stirred slightly, bringing her shoulders up to ward off any more touches. Jack had to suppress a chuckle, and couldn't resist running another finger down her nose. Her skin was soft to the touch, no sign of that nasty sunburn she'd sported on her first day. All she had to show for it was a darker shade of skin and a few more freckles.

The moon ran behind a cloud for a moment, and Jack was left in near darkness with the Frenchwoman, motionless upon the bed. When the silver orb broke free of its cover, however, and its light filtered through his window and onto the bed, his eyes were drawn again to Vivien's face.

She was a plain woman, but one might call her pretty. In the moonlight she resembled anything but a frightened, troublesome woman, French at that. In the moonlight her pale skin glowed, and Jack wanted nothing more than to wrap an arm around her and pull her to him to run his hands over every crevice of her body. But that small coherent part of his mind stopped him from doing anything rash, and he forced his eyes from her face before rolling onto his back, folding his wandering hands behind his head.

But as he lay there and stared at the ceiling, the soft smell of a woman, natural and untouched, invaded his senses, making his body ache with want. He realized he was more than a little drunk, though, and turned on his side, facing away from Vivien. Closing his eyes, he attempted to banish her face from his head, fingers digging into the soft fabric of his pillow.

Mercifully, Jack Sparrow drifted off into a dreamless sleep, exhaustion overtaking him as he muscles relaxed and his breathing calmed.

The two lay on opposite sides of the large bed as they slept, remaining that way as the crew of the _Pearl_ slowly filtered out from the pubs and brothel's and fell snoring into their hammocks.

**--**

That same night, on the dark waters of the Indian Ocean, sailed a large ship, sails billowing at full as a night breeze propelled it towards its destination.

Ambodiforaha.

And a man lay awake on his cot that night, soft lantern light illuminating the small cabin he occupied. Dark eyes glared at the ceiling, yet his mind was far away on a young woman. A woman who had the luck of an escape from him, Dorian Belfast. It wasn't supposed to happen. The woman was supposed to do what he wanted, to stay in constant fear of him so he wouldn't ever have to worry about a thing like this happening!

She wouldn't be gone for long, however, as Antonio Elaido's ship _La Sangre de Mar_, was taking him closer to the wretched Vivien Brideau.

She would be stolen from right under Jack Sparrow's nose!

**--**

Vivien woke abruptly, the sound of loud rapping invading her ears. She vaguely recognized the sound to be knocking, and groaned lightly in protest, not willing to wake up and get to work on the ship. _Just a few more minutes,_ she wanted to say, but thought the words instead, and content with knowing that she tightened her arms around her pillow with a sigh.

But the person was insistent, his fist hitting the wood a bit harder now, the noise accompanied by a voice.

"Captain? Are ye awake?" called in a voice, and Vivien found it slightly odd that the man was addressing her as Captain. But she rode it off as her hearing, and, in an attempt to ignore the noise, she burrowed her face into the pillow, intent on pulling it closer.

She knew something was terribly wrong when her pillow hugged her back, the movement accompanied by a muffled groan and an exhale of warm breath near her ear.

Her hands moved before her eyes, gingerly running along her pillow, only to find it was quite smooth and solid and seemed to flex slightly under her touch. Then, startled by this revelation, her eyes snapped open and she shot back away from her 'pillow,' only to find her movement inhibited by a pair of arms. The next moment, Vivien was staring nose to nose with a very confused looking Jack Sparrow, his own eyes half clouded with sleep.

"Captain Sparrow? Is everythin' alrigh' in there?" the concerned voice floated through the door to Jack's quarters, but the two didn't seem to notice.

They were much too occupied with staring at each other in surprise and incredulity, bodies still entwined in the bed sheets.

Vivien was the first to react, mouth opening in a scream, although one of surprise or fear, she wasn't quite sure herself. But she screamed, and Jack automatically let her go to protect his ears. She reeled frantically away, shrieking, before tumbling over the side of the bed onto the floor with a loud thud. Her screaming halted abruptly as she fell out of sight, and Jack flopped around a moment before managing to untangle himself from the bed sheets and peer over the side the young woman had disappeared over.

She was staring up at him, looking scandalized, hair disheveled, dress wrinkled and eyes still dull from sleep. They stared at each other again; Jack perched in the side of the bed, bare-chested with an inquisitive look upon his face.

"Captain? Captain? Someone in there wit' ya?" the persistent pirate behind the door asked feebly, clueless as to the goings on inside.

The voice was enough to bring Vivien to her senses, however, and she spared Jack one last wide-eyed glance before scrambling up from the floor and stumbling past the bed in a haste to get to the door. It was flung open in a wide arc, revealing a young sailor in its frame, but the Frenchwoman was already out the door before a word could be said.

The pirate turned slightly, just catching the end glimpse of Vivien's skirts as she fled to her cabin and slammed the door shut. He looked back at his Captain, who was now lounging idly on the bed, inspecting his grimy fingernails casually, as if screaming ladies hurled themselves from his quarters every day (which was anything but the truth!).

"Captain Sparrow?" the boy asked cautiously.

Jack's head snapped up, eyebrows raised as he leaned back on his arms, legs crossed before him on the bed. "Yes?"

"Ana-Anamaria, sir…she told me to tell ye break'ast is ready. It's nearing mid-morning."

Nodding, he fixed the pirate with a knowing smile. "Polite terms, eh?"

He seemed nervous under his Captain's stare. "Ah…y-yes, sir…but I won't tell you what she really said. I'm sure she'd skewer me, sir," he stuttered out.

"No need for all the sir's, John m'boy. Captain does just fine," he told his crewman, and slid off the bed to hunt for his shirt. "Go tell Brill to leave some for me…and don't mention that dear Miss Brideau was in me cabin, savvy? Can't have her reputation ruined, can we?" he leered at John, humour in his eyes.

John nodded hurriedly, "Yes si—I mean Captain. Right away." He fled the room, closing the door behind him as Jack wrestled his shirt back on. The Captain wrinkled his nose upon discovering the dark black smudge on the fabric.

"I have to get this cleaned…" he muttered to himself, proceeding to pull on the remainder of his clothes. He carefully applied new kohl around his eyes and humming cheerfully to himself as he thought of Vivien.

Memories from the night before were coming back to him now, as they'd eluded him when he'd woken to find himself wrapped in her embrace, and she in his. Not that'd it been a bad awakening, certainly not! In fact, Jack was quite sure he could handle many more mornings with Vivien in his bed, but he was sure that would take time. Unless he managed to lock her up in his cabin every day, but he doubted that would very much improve her mood with him. She'd certainly seemed shocked enough this morning! Jack had thought he'd gone deaf! The woman really did have lungs like a banshee, not that he blamed her. She'd had a right to be surprised, but he'd never imagined she would run from him!

_Have to explain it all to her later, I suppose,_ Jack mused, and fixed his hat atop his head before strolling out from his cabin. He was feeling very refreshed and ready to face another day running around the town.

The crew was already running about when he made his way into the galley, and several were still at the mess tables finishing off their bowls of gruel. He fervently hoped that Brill had cooked the oatmeal and flour through.

The plump cook greeted him with a smile and a full bowl of bubbling, steaming mess, complete with a spoon. He patted Jack upon the back encouraging his Captain to eat it all, but Jack promptly lost his appetite when he noticed the bubbled weren't the only things moving within the food. Politely declining breakfast, telling Brill he'd find a nip to eat in town and promising the man new supplies that day, the pirate managed to slip from the galley relatively unharmed. He bounded up the stairs to the deck, wincing slightly as the sun caught him straight in the face.

Squinting, he observed the men a moment. They were dutifully hauling barrels of rum and water as well as crates of fruit and vegetables onto the _Pearl_, the first of the supplies that they would need to gather today. The sound of an argument, however, caught his ears. Jack turned to the stern of the ship, where Anamaria looked to be giving Vivien a heated lecture before the doors of his cabin. He noticed the Frenchwoman was cringing away from the female pirate, and had a sudden hint as to why she was being told of so vehemently.

Straightening his hat and lifting his head, Jack approached the two women with his usual gait. Anamaria halted her tirade as Jack appeared, head cocked to the side and a look of interest upon his face.

"What's this all about, then?" he asked, eyes turning to Vivien, who looked to be suffering from an extremely red blush.

Anamaria cast the youner woman one last glare before turning to Jack, hands planted firmly on her hips and her chin held high. "Your newest crewmember wasn't in the galley helpin' Brill this morning, nor was she in her room, I hear!" she spat.

Unaffected, Jack smiled at her, placating. "Why, Ana, that's because Vivien was keeping my lovely self company, weren't you love?" he turned to look at Vivien, nodding the slightest, a movement the mulatto woman didn't catch.

Anamaria turned an incredulous gaze on the younger woman, disbelieving until she saw her nod meekly, looking quite miserable. She whirled about to stare at Jack, eyes wide. "Did ya force her, ya bastard?" she demanded furiously, fists clenched.

Jack's face remained blank. "Leave it, Anamaria," he warned darkly.

The female pirate snarled, looking as frustrated with herself as she was with him."Damned, stupid ass!"

He arched a calculating eyebrow at her. "Would you be sayin' the same thing if I told you that Vivien was asleep when I got there?" he asked her patronizingly.

"That don't mean nothing happened, ya wretch!" Anamaria growled, and Vivien's ears coloured.

A muscle in Jack's cheek twitched slightly, and he gave a sidelong glance at the Frenchwoman. "You know I ain't like that, Ana," he told her.

Anamaria heaved a sigh, closing her eyes briefly to soothe her anger. Then, she gave Jack an unimpressed look. "Aye, you're right, but that don't change the fact you slept with the lass, ye dirty man!" she retorted, and stuck her nose back in the air before brushing roughly past him.

Jack turned to shout at her retreating form. "Not a word to anyone, Ana!" he ordered, and received a rather rude gesture from the mulatto woman in return. He sighed, rolling his eyes to the heavens for a moment in despair, before turning to face Vivien. Her embarrassed blush seemed to have dissipated somewhat, but as she noticed his eyes were on her she coloured up again slightly. Jack chose to ignore that fact.

"Don't mind her, she's not a morning person," he said lightly.

Vivien knew that.

"You had anything to eat yet, love?" he questioned politely, attempting to banish the awkwardness between them.

She shook her head mutely, unwilling to meet his gaze.

Stepping forward, he slung an arm around her shoulders. "Believe me, that's a _very_ good thing," he told her, leading her away. "Because I believe my crew just hauled aboard a crate of bananas and apples. Come to think of it, did I ever tell you that bananas are my favourite…?"

**--**

On the other side of town, far from where the _Black Pearl_ could be seen, a Spanish galleon had just docked off shore, the name _La Sangre de Mar_ painted in flowing letters across its hull.

Two men stood silent at the side of the ship, staring out at the pirate town as the crew hurried around them, securing the ship to float in the harbour.

The Captain turned to the man beside him, arching a delicate eyebrow. "Have you any idea how to find them, then?" he asked. "I'm afraid I don't frequent this town as often as I used to."

Dorian Belfast gazed out over the waters, watching the ships and the men out in small rowboats, unaware of his eyes. There was one ship docked here that needed to be found, and he new exactly how to find it.

"You simply have to ask, Señor Elaido. I'm sure there are a few men in this town that wouldn't mind having a blade between Sparrow's shoulders."

The Spaniard turned to grin at Belfast. "Ah, for a moment I'd forgotten your less than honest history," he said, voice deep and smooth. "Tell me, what do you plan on doing to this Jack Sparrow, hmm?"

Belfast's eyes strayed to the bright waters once more. "I plan on stealing from him, Señor, and woe be the fool who stands in my way." He glanced at the ship's Captain. "I can only hope it will be him."

**--**

**French Translations**

Gasp! None? What has the world come to?

Actually, I don't think Vivien said _anything_ in this chapter. Too busy screaming…;)

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	18. Warning Bells

**The Trouble with Women**

**Chapter 17**

Warning Bells

**--**

"I've decided, Captain Sparrow, that I would like an apology for your rude behaviour from last night and this morning," Vivien had told Jack Sparrow without so much as warning as they'd strolled the deck together, avoiding the bustle of the crew.

Truth be told, she was rather surprised that the request had come from her lips. She'd been thinking of giving the man a telling off, but didn't actually expect herself to gather enough courage to actually _do_ it. One moment there had been an almost amiable silence between them, and the next she had to ruin it.

Jack had turned to her, eyebrows curved downward with what seemed to be a look of complete disbelief upon his face. He hid it quickly, however, because the next moment he was laughing heartily at her, which made her feel nothing less than a joke.

_Vivien, l'idiot, _she thought sardonically.

"May I inquire as to what is so funny, Captain?" she asked stiffly, observing the pirate with a stony face as he proceeded to laugh himself silly.

Jack managed to straighten himself somewhat, squelching a particularly adamant fit of laughter to an amused grin. "Pray, say that again, love," he requested cheekily.

"What?" Vivien's brow furrowed in confusion, and Jack could hardly contain his laughter.

"Vivien, I believe that's the first time you've had the audacity to demand something from me, unless of course you count our unfortunate dinner conversation concerning your father's treasure," he told her, his smile betraying his gold-capped teeth.

_Ah, then he must find this terribly amusing..._ "Yes? And I'll do it again, Captain Sparrow," she retorted, deciding to humour the man more whether she wished to or not. "As far as our agreement goes, I've not heard a word that allows you to be locking me up like a prisoner or sleeping in the same bed as myself as though I'm something I'm not!" Vivien wasn't going to back down from this argument. Not while her person was being treated in such a way. _C'était__ absurde!_

Jack noted the way her face seemed to flush a bit, giving her nervousness away. He figured she wouldn't have even brought the subject back up unless it really seemed to bother her. Not that he hadn't expected it to. Not that he really cared…

"I think you're forgetting one very important thing, Vivien," he told her, humour in his eyes."I'm Captain aboard this ship and whatever I say, goes."

She eyed him warily, now, her suspicions roused by those last words. "And does that allow you to go back on your end of our agreement at any time?" she questioned tentatively, almost afraid that once she'd put the thought in his mind that would be exactly what he would do.

Maybe he noticed this, because he gave her a sort of reassuring smile. "Nay, I've never broken an accord in my life, darling. But that doesn't mean I can't lock you up—since it's purely for safety reasons. I can't have any unwanted hands on your lovely self, now can I?" he smirked cheekily down at her.

Vivien seemed to recall him explaining this to her yesterday on the outside of the door as she had cursed him in French and demanded to be let out.

"And, furthermore, last night I was drunk off my arse…pardon my French—" Vivien gave him a pointed look, in which he made an odd face "—No offence meant, of course. But as it goes, I was drunk as Davy's sow and unlikely to give a second thought that you were in _my_ bed. What'd you expect? Me to be chivalrous and wake you?" he mocked, raising an eyebrow at her. "I'm afraid you may have forgotten I'm but a lowly pirate."

Vivien knew when she had been beat. "Then I request you inform me beforehand if you're going to be locking me down below, Captain," she told him icily, eyes fixed on a spot just below his shoulder, refusing to look him in the eyes.

Again, Jack laughed. "Well, then, now's a good time as ever, love. Do you wish for me to escort you?" he asked mockingly, offering her his arm.

_Homme__ impudent._

She pointedly ignored his offer and refused to look at him as they made their way to her cabin.

**--**

"Damn Sparrow and his bloody whore…" preceded a string a mumbled curses from none other than Beckham, who sat at a rickety little table in the corner of the one Ambodiforaha's seediest, squalid taverns. Also huddled around the table were Louis and Bardus, the French pirate with a permanent scowl upon his face and the brutish man staring down into a tankard of ale.

They'd made it onto shore in humiliation, half the town laughing at their nakedness as they had waded from the water. Thoroughly disgraced, they had slunk about the backstreets of the pirate town for a good hour before an unfortunate three men, drunk out of their wits, came stumbling into the shadows. The three former pirates had left the men stripped, lying in pools of their own blood. They stepped from the allies fully clothed and with purses bulging with coin.

However, all three took Jack Sparrow's warning to heart, and made themselves scarce as possible, holing themselves up in a dark and grubby tavern just off the waterfront where the poor and the paupers made their homes. Sparrow preferred places with quality rum and familiar faces, and this was not the place.

They'd been hiding ever since.

"Who does he think he is, anyway? The cocky little bastard. Sonofabitch…having a bleedin' woman aboard like that…dumb wench…" Beckham continued to mumble, downing another swig of whisky. He couldn't even look at rum. It made him think of that smug fool Sparrow.

Louis, perhaps the calmest of the three, rolled his eyes at the man. "Cursing Jack Sparrow to hell isn't goin' to do anything, idiot."

Beckham sneered at his former shipmate. "I don't see yew with any great ideas. I bet you're gunna leave it at that, lettin' Sparrow have is way!" he snarled.

"You want revenge? You can do it yourself. Jack Sparrow may be arrogant but he ain't a bloody fool," he shot back irritably. "You'll be dead before you knew what hit you."

The three fell into silence, all frowning and all feeling like an equal share of vengeance was in order, although Louis was reluctant to go against Jack Sparrow again. Fortunately or unfortunately, none of them had a coherent idea how to achieve revenge, and it only seemed to worsen their moods.

Their opportunity came just moments later.

"Excuse me, gentlemen…but I couldn't help but here you speak the name Jack Sparrow."

The three looked up, disinterested, and were faced with possibly the most well-dressed man any of them had—or were—ever going to see. An ornately curved hat sat atop an almost regal looking head, with dark hair pulled into a small tail at the nape of his neck. His moustache was thin and trimmed neatly, a small goatee at his chin. His lips were curved into a devious smile, his eyes dark and glinting in the dim light. The clothes he wore looked almost suited for royalty, for the shirt he work looked suspiciously like silk, the overcoat fine leather, and the belt around his waist was decorated with a elaborate silver buckle. His britches, too, seemed of high quality, the fabric new and unsoiled. His boots were of medium stature and polished.

But what caught the three men's eyes most of all, maybe, was the high quality sheath of his sword, and the jewelled handle of the weapon. He wore two fancy pistols tucked firmly into his belt, and several daggers—the handles were just poking out from beneath the coat.

Beckham's first thoughts on the man were that he was a pansy waif prancing about a pirate town just waiting to be robbed, until he noticed the avid glint in his dark eyes.

Louis's thoughts were of the opposite. This was a dangerous man. He was reminded of Sparrow, with his dark eyes and smile, his strike quick and deadly. This man's voice was smooth and deadly, with a thick Spanish accent. _A Spaniard in the __Indian Ocean__…?_

Bardus narrowed his eyes at the man, feeling quite peeved that someone had interrupted his time to drown himself in ale, but realized the man meant business as he cocked an impatient eyebrow at them, his gaze cool.

Beckham's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Depends on why you want to know," he said, lips curling in distaste. He'd never liked the Spanish much.

In a moment, a fourth chair was at the table, and the Spaniard had seated himself without invitation. "Well, I couldn't help but overhear you speaking of Jack Sparrow as though he was a curse…and was reminded of my own reasons for disliking the man."

"What's that to do with us?" Louis demanded, leaning forward to study the newcomer.

The Spaniard smiled wily,a grinremarkably like Sparrow's. It was unnerving.

"I was wondering if you could point out his ship to me. A few friends and I have been searching for him without much luck," the Spaniard offered an innocent shrug.

Beckham glared. "We'll be needin' some sort of reason, Spaniard, afore sayin' anythin'."

Unaffected by the name, the newcomer folder his hands on the table. "To put it simply, _señores_, Jack Sparrow has something my current employer is after, and in getting it I receive a rather large sum of money for my troubles. And, if you help us I'll give up ten percent of the profits and you can split it between yourselves."

The three exchanged a quite glance between themselves, all three thinking the same thing.

The French wench, Vivien Brideau. It seemed as though Sparrow wasn't the only one after her treasure.

Louis spoke up after a moment. "We'll be needing twenty percent for our troubles."

The Spaniard shook his head firmly. "You'll receive ten percent, enough to keep all three of you satisfied for more than a while. Do you agree or not?"

Ignoring the question, Louis pursed his lips. "How much is ten percent?"

The newcomer grinned. "Roughly two hundred guineas, I believe."

Needless to say, the deal was sealed within less than two minutes after that revelation.

**--**

Vivien was staring out at the harbour again, leaning on the small porthole with her arms crossed under her chin. Behind her, there were several of Shakespeare's books stacked on the bed, ones Jack had brought her by request. Actually, Anamaria had been the one to bring them to her, but had informed her with a roll of her eyes that Jack had thought it best she have something to occupy her time with.

She'd read for a while before becoming bored. She seemed to have been reading the same line over and over again for nearly five minutes. But that was nothing a bit of fresh air couldn't fix. Vivien soon found herself watching the pirate town with a subtle sort of curiosity.

It didn't seem so bad during the day. Although from where she was standing the town was too far in the distance to see much. If not for all the pirate ships bobbing about, she would have thought it a normal town. And, before night had begun to fall the day before, Vivien could have been certain Jack Sparrow was feeding her one big lie. It had seemed peaceful until the first gunshot had gone off, and then the waterfront was crammed with boats filled with pirates piling into the town, their laugher and shouts carrying over the small bay. She was lucky she'd had that book to distract her from the noises!

So, now that she really thought about it, Vivien was somewhat glad to have a place of refuge. Before being once again outsmarted by the man, Jack had quite insistently pulled her around the better part of the morning after breakfast, intent that she learn as much about a ship—his ship—in the shortest amount of time possible. His reasons she couldn't even begin to fathom, but she'd had the strange feeling he'd tolerated her the whole morning simply because it was of some profit to him. Or maybe the sound of his own voice pleased him so much that he needed someone to chatter away at for hours. Most of what he'd told her had gone in one ear and out the other, though. Despite her initial dislike of the man and her embarrassment caused by him that morning, Vivien found herself strangely drawn to him. But did she trust him? Not likely. Not yet, anyway

Sighing, Vivien slid from the view and glanced back at the books on the bed. _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ was still waiting to be finished, after all.

**--**

Jack knew something was wrong. It was that tingling of uncertainty in the very middle of his gut that was trying in vain to warn him of something. It was like that feeling someone got while being watching. One knew eyes were upon them, focused solely on them, but were unable to act unless they knew where their watcher stood.

He'd first noticed around midday, after paying for the last bag of flour and helping his men load their new supplies into the boats and row it to the _Pearl _At first, he'd thought he had forgotten something, but upon confiding in Gibbs, found that they'd purchased all they needed. Not a thing was left undone.

He'd scanned the harbour then, standing tall on the docks and surveying the ships before him.

There was something hiding from him. An elusive flash of colour in the corner of his eye, and when he turned to seek it out, there was nothing but black and white.

Hours later he'd found himself back in _The Maiden's Head_, talking to Eugene over the bar top. He'd seen nor heard a thing, Jack had been told, and had nodded it away absently. Another round of drinks were ordered for his table, and by the time the sun had set, he was once again too drunk to put a completely coherent string of words together. There was a woman on each of his arms and his crew around him. The atmosphere was what he was used to, loud and rowdy. The air was hot, Jack was drunk, and the feeling was completely forgotten.

As was Vivien, and her luring green eyes.

It was a mistake he'd have more trouble fixing than he would have liked.

**--**

Night had long since fallen on Sainte Marie, and the night owls had risen for pleasurable company and a drought of liquor. At this time, the waters of the harbour were near devoid of life safe for the restless souls trapped in the timber of ships. The water was too dark to see, and most avoided crossing back to their ships after dusk. Many would stay in Ambodiforaha tonight, and several men were quite pleased with this fact.

A rowboat was in the water, two sets of oars powered by for men—four pirates.

Three men sat huddled close to each other while two more sat facing them.

The Indian air was cool at night, nipping at the occupants of the boat. One man shuddered.

"It's a bit cold for being a tropical island! I'd rather be drinking myself into oblivion if I wasn't being paid!"

Beside him, another snorted. "Stop being a dumb get, Louis. It's a friggin' wind!"

Louis, the Frenchman and former crewman aboard the _Black Pearl_, glared steadily at Beckham. "Watch your tongue, Beckham. It was what got us all into this mess in the first place."

"Shaddap, braggart!" Beckham spat, elbowing his companion in the ribs.

Bardus, who sat beside Louis, watched as the two fought with a look of mild tedium upon his face. Clearly, this was something he saw every day…

Louis mimicked Beckham, adopting the Englishman's clipped accent. "'Lets get the stupid, chit, mate! No sense in Sparrow keepin' 'er all to himself! Valuable she may be to him, but she'd only good for one thing with me!'" he mocked, recalling the pirate's words when he first came up with his brilliant plan to subdue and force the Frenchwoman.

"What'd I say, fool!" Beckham snarled warningly, and opened his mouth to give Louis a verbal lashing when he was interrupted.

"You tried to force yourself upon Miss Brideau?" a deep, bitter voice asked, sounding somewhat perturbed.

Three pairs of eyes snapped up to regard the man who had spoken. Even the rowers had turned their heads and cocked their ears.

He was a big man with dark eyes and dark hair, and right now his face seemed disturbingly dark. One eyebrow was cocked in question, waiting for an answer.

"Aye, what's it to you, Belfast is it?" Beckham sneered. "What do ye need the wench for anyway? Treasure, perhaps?"

Belfast, for that was truly the man who sat before the three former _Pearl_ crewmembers, glanced quickly at the man beside him. Antonio Elaido.

"Shoot him," he said nonchalantly,but it was more of an order.

Antonio stared. "Don't order me," he shook his head.

"Shoot him!" Belfast pressed, and the three companions looked horrified, Beckham most of all.

"Don't!" he protested loudly.

Belfast snarled. "Shoot him before he makes any more noise!"

Panicked, Beckham shot up from his seat, rocking the boat wildly. "No, no!"

"Do it!"

Looking peeved, Antonio pulled one of his pistols from his belt.

Naturally, Beckham didn't stand a chance. The Spaniard's pistol was in his hand, cocked, and had been fired before the pirate could open his mouth in protest. The shot echoed loudly over the water, and a body fell with a splash moment's later. The lead bullet in Beckham's head killed him instantly, and he was dead before he had collapsed overboard.

The two remaining companions stared on in shock.

Belfast cleared his throat. "You're being paid to help me get aboard the _Pearl, _not to be nosy. After this night, the name Vivien Brideau and anything you may have heard of her is forgotten, understand?" he cocked an eyebrow at the two. "If it isn't, I have no qualms with hunting you two down and killing you in a more fitting manner than that of your foolish friend."

Louis and Bardus nodded frantically in agreement.

"Very well. Now where is the _Black __Pearl_" Belfast asked, surveying the ships around him idly.

Bardus pointed ahead. "T-that one, with the black sails. That's it."

Instantly, all eyes were on the formidable ship that suddenly seemed to loom before them, and ethereal sort of fog drifting about its hull. It rose up higher than most the ships docked, its masts reaching to the sky, and Belfast wondered how he could have missed it.

He felt Antonio stiffen slightly beside him, and couldn't help but let a small smirk on his face. "Is it more than you were expecting, _Señor _Elaido?"

Biting his tongue, eyes still glued to the ship as they neared, he bit out a forced, "No."

Belfast fought back a smart retort and watched as they quickly closed the distance between them and the ship. The pirate in his then took over. "That shot was bound to be heard somewhere, but with this fog we're invisible. Get on board as silently as you can. There's bound to be a few of his men lurking around…"

Antonio fixed him with a steady stare. "Sí, how do you know Sparrow hasn't left half the crew onboard?" he asked, his voice lowered to a whisper.

It was Louis who answered, finally gaining his wits back after seeing Beckham's dead body slumping into the water. "Jack Sparrow treats his crew well _Señor_. He won't have anyone staying back while he's out drinking. The only men on board will be the sentries. He changes them every hour to even it up. No worries. If you can knock out both men before one rings the warning bell, the ship is yours," he explained quickly, eyes straying back to his former ship. It looked foreboding, almost as if warning the approaching men not to come any closer.

"I'm not planning to knock them out. Jack Sparrow owes me for my troubles. I'm going to kill them," Belfast said with a grim smile.

The boat neared the _Black __Pearl_

Louis and Bardus exchanged glances, then the bigger man spoke quietly. "Jack Sparrow won't take well to his crew bein' murdered."

Belfast turned to sneer at the man. "And I don't take well to people stealing from me."

Antonio was in agreement with Belfast. He was beginning to dislike this Jack Sparrow with each new word said about him. "I say we kill them. Any crew of Sparrow's isn't to be left alive."

Belfast addressed them all lowly. "Be quite, we're close enough to hear clearly."

The boat scraped gently against the hull of the _Black Pearl_, the rows making small splashes in the still water before being lowered into the boat. The figurehead above them seemed to watch them calmly, observing every move made. She watched as ropes fitted with rusty old grappling hooks were thrown over her side, digging into the wood, and watched as the men secured the boat. Then, there was complete silence, broken only when Dorian Belfast turned to the men and gave his last orders.

"Take down the men on sentry and we'll search the ship. Be silent, be quick. I'll have no mistakes."

**--**

Vivien had long since lit a new candle inside her lantern and had placed it upon her small cot for light to read with. Now, she was curled up on top the thin bed sheets, a new Shakespeare book in her lap. _Hamlet._ She knew neither Jack or his crew would be back for a while yet, and was forcing herself to stay awake until she knew there were others aboard. The sentry's weren't much company, simply because all they did was walk around the ship for an hour.

She could hear the pirate town was in full swing, guns firing and drunks stumbling around the streets. But the book before her brought her away from the noise, and of that she was glad.

Her eyes moved steadily over the words, pulling her into the story and prose and further away from reality. She was so engrossed in the book that she didn't even hear the loud boots outside her door until the knob on her door was being jiggled.

Startled out of her world of Shakespeare, her green eyes darted up from the worn pages to watch the door uncertainly.

It turned again, and this time she could have sworn she heard whispering. Who was it? Was this some sort of Jack's jokes? Was the crew after here again? Questions began to spin around her mind, and in turn made her panic with each new idea. Someone was trying to kill her…bandits maybe! The pirates who lived in the town, they'd somehow found out where she was!

A loud thump on the door made her jump, and she slapped the book shut and crawled further back on her cot.

"Captain Sparrow…is that you?" she asked hesitantly, and if it was indeed him out there, she was sure her voice was so quite he hadn't even heard her.

Silence. Then the sound of a key jiggling in the lock. Someone was trying to get in.

She swallowed her fear for a moment to call out louder. "Jack?"

A faint click. A thump. The knob turning. Silence.

The door burst open suddenly, making Vivien shriek in surprise, and a body fell through, slumping onto the floor ungracefully. She stared, eyes wide and trained on the man's face. It was Timms, a man on Jack's crew. A nice man who hadn't minded her horrible gruel and had eaten it without a complaint. And he lay on his back, arms at odd angles, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling as liquid—blood, dark red blood—slowly seeped onto the floor around him, staining the wood.

He was dead.

Vivien wanted nothing more than to vomit, her stomach churning almost painfully, but her eyes were glued to the dead man. She couldn't stop staring at him. _He'd dead, mon Dieu, he's dead! _The blood was pooling around his head like a halo. A halo of red, slowly growing. _He's dead, he's dead,_ she kept repeating it in her mind, horrified. _Il__ est mort…Mon Dieu, m'aides! _

A sudden movement in the doorway finally caught her attention, a dark shape blocking her only route of escape. Terrified, her head snapped up to stare, looking like a deer caught out in the open. She was met with the face of a man she had hoped to never, ever see again.

"Hello, Vivien."

**--**

**Translations:**

L'idiot – the idiot

C'était absurde! – It was absurd!

Homme impudent – cocky/impudent man

Sí - yes

Il est mort…Mon Dieu, m'aides! – He's dead...my god/my goodness, help me!

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	19. No Deliverance

**The Trouble with Women**

**Chapter 18**

No Deliverance

**--**

It wasn't often that Jack found himself sleeping ashore when his ship and cabin were waiting for him on the water. Years ago, he could remember sleeping in inns and taverns along the coast without any discomfort, but now it was not so. He much preferred the gentle rolling of the sea to lull him to sleep that the steadiness of the land. The ground was too solid, too sturdy. When he wasn't swaying he could not rest, it was as simple as that.

But, nonetheless, every once in a while Jack would wake up in a bed in inn (usually with several women and an agonizing headache) or on the floor of a tavern being swatted at with a broom (usually handled by a bar wench). But this only happened when Jack managed to consume copious of amounts of rum the night before (or day, depending on how long he slept), and was so irrigated he couldn't even see straight, not to mention get to his ship. Once or twice he'd even awoken on the docks with overzealous seagull pecking at his hair or several sailors staring down at him with curiosity.

That happened less and less, however, since he'd learned his lesson after waking in a rowboat drifting off the coast of Barbados a few months after losing the _Black Pearl_ to Barbossa, stripped naked and unarmed. Thankfully, he'd managed to track down his pistol, hat, coat, and compass, but everything else had been lost.

Now, Jack Sparrow only drank himself into oblivion when his crew was nearby, for safety reasons, and the last night had been no exception.

Jack woke face down in the scratchy covers of a small bed, the distinct feeling of a woman's body pressed up against him. For a moment, he thought he was in his cabin on the _Pearl_¸ and Vivien was snuggled up beside him (which was a rather appealing thought), but as he turned his head to breathe and blinked several times, noticing the stillness around him, he realized that was not so.

He was on land and the woman beside him was most definitely naked...as well as himself.

Making a face of distaste, for rather disliked it when he'd been so drunk the night before as to not remember a thing, Jack turned his head to squint over at the woman in his bed.

She had coffee-coloured hair, long and dark, with golden skin unmarred by freckles. And she was distinctly thinner than the young woman back aboard his ship. _No, definitely not Vivien._

That made sense of course, since he was sure even he couldn't woo the Frenchwoman into his bed at this point and time, and he had a feeling she would never agree to drink the amount of alcohol needed to do so. And, of course, Jack would have wanted her fully conscious during the event. It was much more...pleasurable that way. He also had a feeling that she would think twice about sleeping with him if she knew he frolicked around with prostitutes while onshore. If she didn't already.

_What she doesn't know can't hurt her_.

Heaving a sigh, he rolled himself away from the naked woman, preferring to avert his eyes from the sight. Grimacing as light from the window beside him hit his face, Jack managed to recall a small snippet from the night before.

Fowler had challenged him to a drinking match, and Gibbs, Quartetto and Thomas had joined in. Jack had no doubt that he'd won, since he'd managed to get himself into a bed with a woman, and surely that wasn't possible while one was passed out on the floor?

No, of course not!

Careful of the pain in his head, Jack heaved himself up from the hard mattress, the bed sheets and covers pooling limply around his waist. The woman moaned slightly beside him, and he glanced back at her as perched on the edge of the bed.

Janine. That was her name. _Rough and feisty,_ he recalled wryly.

Bits and pieces were coming back to Jack now, some rather embarrassing while others caused a small smirk to form on his lips.

Feeling considerably better now that he knew how he had gotten into the bed, Jack stood up; naked as the day he was born, stretched lengthily, then began to search the room for his clothes with a slightly unstable wobble. That happened sometimes. The land was far too sturdy for his liking, and his hangover wasn't helping much.

After several minutes, he'd managed to locate all of his attire and had dressed himself, although he had backtracked once when he noticed his breeches were on backwards. Pulling his boots on, he glanced over his shoulder at the woman again. She was still dead to the world, blankets gathered at her hips, her upper body bare. Although she was facing away from him, which disappointed Jack slightly. Nonetheless, he pulled out his small purse and retrieved several coins.

Jack Sparrow always paid his pleasurable company, so to speak.

Setting them on the nightstand next to the bed and glancing once at the woman's dark face, he left the room with a slight spring in his step. Oh yes, he was feeling quite a bit better now. He made his way down the stairs and into the tavern. Apparently he hadn't left _The_ _Maiden's Head_ the night before, since Eugene was wiping down the grimy bar top with an equally dirty rag.

Jack spotted several members of his crew, including his first mate and Fowler at a table in one of the corners, but made a beeline for the wiry bartender.

Eugene looked up from his work and grinned as Jack leaned casually on the bar top.

"Jack," he greeted warmly. "Nice mornin' tis. The fog's cleared out nicely."

The pirate nodded, and when he spoke his voice was slightly hoarse. "Aye, bloody beautiful, mate," he groused slightly. His pounding headache was not gone, no matter how much his mood had managed to improve.

As if reading his mind, Eugene stopped his work and wiped his hands. "Hangover, I imagine? Got just the thing for that," he said, and disappeared in a wink, not allowing Jack to even answer.

The pirate Captain settled himself down at the bar, sitting upon a stool with his fingers tapping on the wooden counter. Eugene was back with surprising speed, a tankard in his hand. He plunked it down before Jack, who leaned over slightly to peer at the liquid inside. He glanced up at the bartender, cocking an eyebrow.

"This wouldn't happen to be the stuff I remember?" he questioned monotonously.

Eugene nodded proudly.

An almost pained grimace flashed across the Captain's face before he snatched up the tankard. He sniffed the brew slightly as Eugene looked on, eyes darting from side to side to see if anyone was watching. No one was, and deeming it safe, Jack tipped the tankard up and drained it in three gulps. Moments later, he slammed it noisily down onto the bar top, a mighty shudder running down his spine as he winced in disgust.

Jack nodded to Eugene, eyes near watering. "Aye, and still as—" he was about to make a crude comment when a sharp shout cut him off, one sounding suspiciously like his name.

"JACK!"

He managed one last swallow in an effort to rid himself of the foul taste in his mouth before turning to the voice. Not surprisingly, it was Anamaria who was storming towards him. He'd only known a few women who could shrill as well as the female pirate. Of course, there was usually a viable reason when she began to screech, and now there was a distressed sort of look upon her face. The rest of the tavern's occupants followed her with their eyes, curiosity obvious.

Jack was no exception, but sensed something was horribly wrong. Anamaria also wasn't one to stress over many things, nor become as frantic as she looked without a good reason.

Feigning disinterest, Jack faced her with a lazy smile. "What's it now, Anamaria? Moises got caught in the rigging again? Or maybe Cotton's parrot's finally flown the coop?" he inquired humorously.

The mulatto woman was not impressed, and halted before him, hands planted firmly on her hips, a grim set to her jaw. "Vivien's gone missing, and two of your crew are dead, that's what," she told him with a murderous scowl.

Needless to say, Jack's day didn't improve much from then on.

**--**

If ever Vivien cursed her ability to faint at any moment it was now.

She sat miserably, staring around the dim room, watching the dust dance across thin rays of light escaping through boarded windows. It smelled of smoke, pipe smoke. It was thick and made her nose itch; it made her head ache and her eyes water.

She'd woken upon an unfamiliar bed, something she'd become rather used to in the past week. That had been hours ago, she was sure. But time seemed to flow slowly in the dark cabin she was confined to.

It was bare save for a large bed, a chair, and a nightstand, reminding her of her own cabin back on the _Pearl._ But this place had a decidedly more ominous feel to it. She was not a guest here, if what she had been aboard the _Black Pearl _could be called a guest. She was a prisoner. A captive. Someone who had to be locked up for fear of escaping.

She sat stiffly upon the hard bed, hands clutching the fabric of her tattered dress. Distorted flashes and images ran before her eyes. Broken memories that only served to increase the pounding in her head. There was blood. And eyes. They stared lifelessly up at her until couldn't stand it a moment longer and blinked the image away. But then there was another face, weathered by years and hardened with cruelty.

Dorian Belfast had grinned victoriously, taunting her. He had found her and killed poor Timms, staining her cabin with his blood.

She had fainted not long after that. The shock of Belfast turning up on the _Pearl _and the sailor he had killed too much to bear. Vivien's last memory before darkness had claimed her was that of sickening fear and disgust as her guardian greeted her so casually, as if mocking her attempts to escape him.

Upon recalling her reality, she felt sick to her stomach.

The floor beneath her rolled, confirming Vivien's fears that she was once again at sea. She didn't want to be at sea. She wanted to be back in her small little cabin on Jack's ship. As much as she had protested before, she could think of nothing better than being cooped up and reading Shakespeare on her small cot while waiting for someone to bring her lunch—or dinner.

Thankfully, no one had even come to see her as of yet, not even to bring a meal. Vivien doubted she would be able to hold anything down, anyway.

Belfast had caught her and there was no telling what he would do once he realized that she had rather willingly stayed aboard the _Black Pearl._

She also wondered if he already knew.

**--**

Jack peered down at the faces of the two deceased crewmembers. He'd arrived back aboard his ship not but a few minutes ago, a grim frown upon his face. There, lain atop two sections of ripped sail, lay Timms and Labroc, the two men he'd assigned to the last dog watch the night before. Their eyes were closed almost peacefully in death, expressionless. Their skin pasty white, but two near identical ugly red gashes cut across their necks stood out starkly. Those were the cause of death.

Much of his crew were gathered around bleakly, watching as their captain inspected the two bodies. Crimp, the ship's makeshift surgeon and physician, stood by Jack as he crouched down to inspect the wounds.

His dark eyes skimmed over the gashes, noting the cleanliness of them. He glanced over at Crimp, squinting against the morning sun. "Done by a cutlass, you reckon?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Crimp nodded almost mournfully in response. "Aye, one clean slice would have done it."

A few of the men cringed.

Sniffing in distaste, Jack stood up. "Then it would have been over fairly quick," he said, almost to himself. It was a reassurance. They had not suffered long.

Turning to the crew, Jack eyed their solemn faces. "Any man with information step forward now. If you don't, I can assure you I'll find what any of you're hiding soon enough."

None of the crew moved, and there was stillness in the air for a moment as the warm wind whipped around them, wafting the smell of death around their noses. The ship creaked in response to the dead, groaning a protest from the depths of the wooden hull.

Jack's eyes lingered on the faces of his men a moment longer before turning to Crimp. "Stitch them in, then," he ordered. "Make sure the sails are tight, then gather a few men to set them down below until we're on open ocean. They'll have a proper burial at sea, like any other respectable pirate."

Without needing to be asked, two crewmen stepped forward to aid the doctor in stitching the dead men up in the sails. He noticed Crimp already had his kit at hand, needles and thread ready. He figured everyone had been waiting for him, and he silently cursed himself for staying on shore last night. Everything could have been prevented if he hadn't been so stone drunk. _No use dwelling on it, though,_ he told himself firmly.

The pirate Captain watched them a moment longer before turning back to his crew. He spotted Gibbs and Anamaria in the crowd and nodded to them.

"Split the men up into groups. They'll search the whole town top to bottom, and anything left to be found will be found!" he ordered loudly. "Gibbs, Anamaria, go to _The Maiden's Head_ and find Eugene. I'm in need of any information he has. If he tries to bribe you, _politely_ remind him who he's dealing with." Jack raised his voice again. "Get to it, ye scabrous dogs!"

Immediately, and almost eagerly, the crew dispersed, piling up the rowboats once more. Jack was left on deck with Crimp and the few men aiding him. He watched as the sails were sewn over the bodies of Timms and Labroc.

"Where were they found?" he inquired, eyes fixated on the dead men's faces.

Crimp was the one to answer. "Anamaria found Labroc just by the helm in a pool o' blood—we cleaned that up, and Timms was found in the lass's room, Miss Brideau. No one's touched nothing down there yet. Figured we should fetch you as soon as possible," he explained, not even looking up from his work, nimble fingers working the needle and thread through the fabric.

It was several seconds later when he responded sombrely. "Thank you."

Jack turned from the sight and made his way over to the latch leading down below, intent on a good look at 'the scene of the crime.' Below decks seemed almost eerie as he made his way down the steps. He passed the crew's quarters, reminiscing on the fact that tonight there would be two empty hammocks. He made a reminder to contact any of the two men's relatives when he had the time, just to let someone know (if they cared) that they were dead.

The door to Vivien's cabin was slightly ajar, and the first thing Jack noticed as he stepped into the entranceway was the ring of keys sticking out from the keyhole on the doorknob. Whomever had come aboard last night must have forced Timms to show them Vivien's room and correct key. He dislodged the keys and pocketed them.

Swallowing, face passive, Jack reached out and gently pushed the half-closed door ajar. It swung open without protest. The room was bright, sunlight streaming through the lone porthole across from the small cot. But there was blood staining the wooden floorboards, already dried. Jack doubted that it could ever be scrubbed completely from the wood.

He stepped into the room, half expecting the small Frenchwoman to shriek out in fright and come popping out of a corner, green eyes wide. No such thing happened though, even as he stepped into the centre of the room, careful to avoid the blood, of course. Rupert, the cabin boy, would be the unfortunate soul to mop that up. As best he could, anyway.

Jack stood in silence, hands propped on his hips as he slowly turned in a circle, inspecting every inch of the room for anything out of the ordinary. He was almost hoping for a ransom note telling him where Vivien was, demanding an unquestionable amount of gold in return for the meek woman. No such luck, however, as all Jack found was several books strewn across the cot, one opened as if its page was marked for later reading.

He retrieved the book with an odd frown, hesitating a moment before sitting down on the edge of the cot. He made as if to close the book, but stopped, curiosity piqued, and settled it on his lap to read the first paragraph.

_Are you sure  
That we are awake? It seems to me  
That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think  
The duke was here, and bid us follow him?_

Snorting lightly, for it was the same book of nonsense Vivien had been reading before she had fallen asleep in his bed, Jack slapped it shut and gathered the other few books in his arms. Then, standing, he straightened the cot's covers slightly, glanced once more at the blood on the floor, and left the cabin, intent on heading to his own quarters for some serious thinking.

**--**

When the door to the smoky cabin finally burst open, Vivien had long ago resolved to take a nap upon the bed. She'd curled up in the middle, hands pillowing her head and back to the rest of the cabin. Of course, she didn't come close to sleeping, but she was thankful that whoever had come in didn't know that.

For a small moment the room was illuminated with the light of day, a burst of fresh air, and the sound of the ocean outside. Seconds later, the door slammed shut loudly (Vivien was hardly able to stop herself from starting), and in the distinct sound of heavy boots upon wood was heard. Someone had come to pay her a visit, it seemed.

The young woman forced her body to stay still, to regulate her breathing and keep her eyes closed tight. Heart in her throat, she listened to the footsteps as the person reached the far end of the room, avoiding the bed.

_Merci, mon Dieu..._

She wondered if her visitor would simply leave her be.

And there was silence save for the loud beating of Vivien's heart. She wished it would calm, for she was sure that any movements in the room would be drowned out by its pounding.

Footsteps again, slow and almost careful. The person moved cautiously, if not in a hushed manner. As if not to frighten her. But that had already been done, and the young woman tensed almost painfully on the bed, eyes snapping open to stare at the far wall in the smoky darkness. She forced herself to stay still even though her insides seemed to be trembling with fear. Her hands clutched at the fabric at her shoulder, curling into fists to stop their shaking. Eyes wide, fear and adrenaline coursing painfully through her veins, Vivien waited as the footsteps drew closer until her visitor stood at the edge of the bed. Looking down at her. She could feel eyes on her back, watching her, and her breath hitched in an effort to stay silent.

_Je dors, leave me be. Je dors, _she chanted mentally, biting down on her lips to keep silent.

The mattress on the bed sunk down somewhat, indicating that someone had sat down beside her. She stifled a whimper.

Vivien couldn't stop her hands from shaking, her fingers locked in the fabric of her dress, palms sweaty._ I'm going to be sick! _she thought to herself.

"Vivien, I know you're not asleep."

She recognized that voice! It made her want to curl in on herself and hide away where no one could find her.

_Doigts_. Long, spindly fingers stroked her tangled mess of hair, running along the mousy brown strands. They almost felt loving, but she knew that was not true. A shudder of revulsion ran down her spine, and Vivien jerked away wildly, finally giving into her instincts. She flailed wildly, scurrying out of her visitor's reach. With the bed between them, she stared wide eyed as the sight of Dorian Belfast greeted her. Same as ever.

"I would have thought you'd be happier to see me," he said, looking irate.

She didn't answer. Her lips were sealed shut, her breathing ragged and her eyes fixed warily on the man.

He'd been expecting and answer. "Vivien," came the warning.

Her brow furrowed as her fingers curled into the blankets on the bed. She forced herself to speak, feeling both rage and fear. "You've kidnapped me! _Pourquoi?_" Everything had been going quite fine aboard the _Black Pearl_. She was gaining freedom and friendship, her life before slowlyfading into the past. She had almost managed to forget _before_. She should have known that Belfast would ruin it.

At the moment, his face was stormy. He wasn't pleased. "Would you rather have stayed with them? Those pirates?" he demanded, voice suddenly harsh. "With that scum Sparrow?"

Vivien was sorely tempted to tell him that Jack was ten times the man he would ever be, but restrained herself. Her few days aboard the _Pearl_ had obviously liberated her somewhat, but here was not the place to show that. Nonetheless, she felt she couldn't let Belfast walk all over her, or Jack for that matter.

"His name is _Captain_ Sparrow," she retorted, holding her chin high as she squared her shoulders. What a picture she made! Hair matted and appearance dishevelled, attempting to scrounge up a bit of dignity and authority to look down upon him!

Belfast was surprised. "What?" he asked, almost in disbelief. Vivien had never had the guts to talk back to him before, so why had she started now? Then his eyes narrowed maliciously. "Oh...are you part of his crew? His whore, perhaps?" he seethed with a snarl.

Vivien's eyes widened in shock, but her chin jutted out indignantly. "_Connard!_" she cursed him.

Glaring, Belfast stood quickly from the bed. "Don't insult me, Vivien," he told her flatly, but wasn't surprised that she'd spoken up. What woman wouldn't? Although, he had heard stories of Jack Sparrow's reputation with women, and it wouldn't be a surprise if she'd been seduced into his bed. But it was disgusting. _She_ was disgusting him, with the thought of Jack Sparrow being near her.

He couldn't hold back from sneering at the young woman. "Do you know why Sparrow kidnapped you? Other than to bed, you, that is?" he inquired nastily. Obviously she'd grown somewhat attached to the man. He'd have to do his best to break any trust between them if he was so keep her under her thumb. And there was no doubt in his mind that he could.

"He wants your _money_, Vivien, and now that you're taken from him he'll forget all about you," he told her, watching as an immediate flicker of uncertainty showing on her face. _So insecure, _he thought knowingly.

"You'll go back to your miserable little existence and live out the rest of your days like the waste of space you are. And no one will care," he told her cruelly, and watched with undisguised triumph as she seemed to realize he was right. Her eyes fell, avoiding him. "I'm all you have left, Vivien, so I would think it wise not to anger me." He spoke truthfully. He would never tolerate disobedience.

Vivien swallowed somewhat thickly, eyes fixed on the floor, appetite for conversation gone. She tried to convince herself he was wrong. Jack would find her, she knew he would. She knew him well enough to know that. And he realized how much she feared being near Belfast, didn't he? He wouldn't leave her with him, would he?

Belfast broke the silence in the dim room. "We're heading around the southern tip of Madagascar, just to throw any of our pursuers off. Then I'll find you a nice new island where no one will ever stumble upon you again," he said, purposefully revealing his plans. It would break her even more, to know that she would never find a way away from him.

And when the young woman didn't respond, looking forlorn, he left without a word.

**--**

Later that day, Jack sat in his cabin, reclined in a chair with his boots crossed atop his desk. He had finally gotten around to cleaning the mess of maps up, and had managed to dig up one showing the whole of Africa's east coast. There were four bottles of rum, each unopened and holding down a corner of the map. They were tempting, but Jack realized he needed to be somewhat sober to deal with the problem before him.

Men greater than himself (and there weren't very many) would have simply given up on the whole thing and left the Bourbon treasure and Vivien Brideau be. Not Jack Sparrow, however, as he had a certain mindset that wouldn't allow him to fail at something he'd already started. And spent half a year trying to find. That was, perhaps, when set Jack apart from most other pirates.

He always got what he wanted.

He'd attempted to find a likely place Dorian Belfast would have taken Vivien. Certainly not back to L'île du Bourbon, he'd dismissed that thought several hours before. The man hadn't proved himself a fool yet. _Besides having stolen from the most infamous pirate in the Caribbean, _Jack reminded himself ruefully. Disregarding that, of course, Belfast had proven himself nothing short of a sneaky little weasel. Not that Jack himself wasn't one, because he was. But now it was a matter of finding who was the cleverer of them both. He wouldn't even admit to himself that they seemed quite evenly matched now.

So Bourbon was out of the question. Belfast wouldn't bring Vivien back to that island only to have him sail back and kidnap her again (for that was what he would have done).

Now the question was where he had taken her besides back home. He wouldn't have stayed in town. That was entirely too careless. _But on the island?_ Jack dismissed that thought too. That was cutting it close.

So where could he be if not Sainte Marie and Bourbon?

A knock sounded on his door, bringing him from his dark brooding. A permanent frown seemed to have fixed itself upon his face.

"Aye?" he asked lazily.

"It's Gibbs, Cap'n!" the older sailor's voice came through the wooden door. There was a muffled _oomph, _followed by another voice.

"And Anamaria! We got something of interest!"

His eyes were trained on the dark liquid in one of rum bottles before him. Blimey, he wished he could get raging drunk just about now, but it wasn't to be.

"Come in!" he called after a moment.

The door swung open squeakily, causing Jack to cringe slightly. He watched as Anamaria and Gibbs filed in, holding what looked to be a young boy between them. For a moment Jack thought him to be Rupert, the cabin boy, but he didn't recognize the child's face.

He fixed the two with a serious eye. "What's this?"

Gibbs was the one who answered. "We've got ourselves a witness, Cap'n. Says he heard some men that spoke your name, and it t'wasn't in good nature, either," he glanced down at the grubby boy in his grasp. "Tell Jack, boy," he commanded firmly.

The child seemed to be terrified out of his wits. Removing his feet from the table, Jack set them on the floor and held up a hand for the two crewmembers to back off. They let go of the boy reluctantly, eyes fixed on his small figure. He was trembling visibly.

"What's that you got to tell ol' Jack, eh?" he leaned forward on his desk inquisitively.

The gangly child blinked rapidly for a moment before speech caught up to him. "A-are you r-really C-Captain Jack Sp-Sparrow, s-sir?" he stuttered violently, instantly reminding Jack of Vivien when he had first met her.

He grinned casually at the boy. "In the flesh, son. What's your name, if you'd be so kind...?"

The boy smiled back slightly. "D-duncan, s-sir," he stammered in reply.

Clasping his fingers, Jack gazed at the boy with interest. "Call me Captain, lad. Now, care to tell me what you heard?"

Nodding jerkily, the small boy started forward towards Jack, hands wringing themselves before him. "Mister Bernard, sir-I mean Captain. H-he...he employs me off an' on, gives me little jobs. Pays me well, he does. And-and he told me to keep an ear cocked for your name, s-Captain. So's I did. An' just last night, it was, there were three men sitting in this pub on the east side of town, the _Rouge Angel Cellar, _it was," he started nervously, eyes darting back to Gibbs and Anamaria a moment. "And I heard your name, I did. They were cursing you, Captain, all three of them. Drinking away, they was—" Jack's gaze briefly flickered to his two mates, but they were listening as the boy continued, "—And th-then another man went and strolled up. H-he asked if they was talkin' 'bout you, Captain, and they says yes. And I stayed in a corner as they started talkin'. Then they starts on abouts his boss. He says you got something of his. And he asks the men where you are, offering them a price. And they told him, sir, gave away your location and told him you had a woman onboard. Got two 'undred guineas for it, too." Duncan halted a moment, peering at Jack, as he seemed deep in thought. "I 'eard the name Beck'em, Captain. Louie and Bardis too. The man who paid them said his name was Elaido, something like that...had a funny accent."

_Figured as much, _Jack told himself ruefully, mulling over the information. Those three didn't seem the kind to take punishment easy. He racked his brain for the name Elaido, next, but nothing came to mind. Feeling frustrated, he fixed the small boy with a piercing stare.

"Ye holdin' anything back?" he asked, unconsciously thickening his accent. It sometimes made larger impressions on the impressionable, he'd been told.

Duncan hesitated a moment under the superior man's eyes, then nodded. "Th-the Elaido bloke...said a B-Balfest be his employer, his boss, I think. His name, I don't remember it right, but he'd the one who's lookin' for that woman you got."

At the mention of 'Balfest,' or Belfast, rather, Jack's mood yet again worsened. He leaned back into his chair, face grim.

"Is that all, then?" he questioned the boy, who once again resembled a quivering mouse.

Duncan nodded quickly, not able to speak. He'd told the Captain all he knew, and now all he wanted was to get off this ship and collect his pay. The money he'd been offered would likely last him a whole week!

Jack mused a moment, a slender finger running along his beard. He turned back to his company, nodding to Anamaria and Gibbs. "Escort young Master Duncan to _The Maiden's Head, _and give Eugene my thanks. I need time to think," he told them, a dismissal if there was one.

Anamaria steered the boy from the cabin, but Gibbs remained, his face solemn. Jack, his frustration getting the better of him, cocked his head expectantly, eyebrows raised.

"What?" he demanded snappishly.

Gibbs cleared his throat before speaking. "More news, Jack. The crew searched most the town and came up with without a scrap of information. No one's seen a thing," he told his friend.

Regretting his anger the moment before, Jack sighed, deflated, and regarded his first mate wearily. "I wasn't expecting much so I can't say that's much news, Josh."

The portly man regarded him seriously. "Ye be right, Jack, but two o' the crew found a body washed up ashore not too long ago," he said.

The pirate Captain's interest piqued slightly and he arched an eyebrow at Gibbs. "Aye?" he prompted.

"T'was Beckham, Jack, with a shot twixt the eyes. He was all bloated from the waters."

When Gibbs finally exited the cabin, he left Jack in a mood darker than night itself. Not only had Vivien been kidnapped, two of his crew killed, but Belfast had been the one to do it. And he seemed to show no hesitation at killing anyone that seemed expendable or displeased him.

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry for the woman, and a spark of something akin to longing.

He wouldn't admit it, but his ship suddenly seemed quiet and empty without the small Frenchwoman aboard.

Sighing, he leaned back into his seat. The bottles of rum before him were tantalizing, tempting him. He resisted for moment, averting his dark eyes from the dark amber liquid within the glass. But the rum was calling, or so Jack thought, and without any further hesitation he had snatched up one of the bottles and uncorked it swiftly. He lifted it to his lips and the dark alcohol slid down his throat, trailing a burning path of satisfaction.

Jack was halfway done his second bottle with a thought struck his rum-hazed mind.

If Belfast had Vivien, why not use her to find the treasure? After having Vivien with him for a week, Belfast may as well have assumed she had already told him the location, and was now frantically trying to sail to the Caribbean to find it. He prayed the bonny Frenchwoman had enough sense left in her to think the obvious that had eluded him for some time, and had told her guardian she'd revealed the location of the treasure to him. He would easily be able to catch up to them, then.

Or maybe he was simply drunk, thinking the impossible in pursuit of a lost cause.

Either way, Jack had stumbled out from his cabin, intent on sailing the _Black Pearl _out of Ambodiforaha. He had a funeral to conduct for two of his friends and crewmen before he could commit himself to the chase.

**--**

**French Translations:**

Je dors – I sleep

Doigts – fingers

Pourquoi? – Why?

Connard - Jerk


	20. Voguer Sur Les Vagues

**The Trouble with Women**

**Chapter 19**

Voguer Sur Les Vagues

**--**

"We be gathered here today to say our goodbyes, at least in this earthly existence, and to assure that your last wishes are fulfilled, and to thank you for everything you've done for us," Joshamee Gibbs's voice rang out upon the still deck in the morning sun.

"We therefore commit these bodies to the deep, looking for the general Resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ; at whose second coming in glorious majesty to judge the world, the sea shall give up her dead; and the corruptible bodies of those who sleep in him shall be changed, and made like unto his glorious body."

Jack had never considered himself to be a very religious man. Proof of curses from gods or higher beings, however, assured him there were indeed goings on in the world around him that he had no control over. Perhaps there was a god watching over them all, but he hadn't and never would loose any sleep pondering over it. And if there were a heaven and a hell, Jack had no doubt in his mind where he would end up.

However, despite being quite non-religious himself (he found it all rather ridiculous when he had visited so many countries and encountered so many other gods and everyone seemed to believe in their own), Jack felt the need to give his two shipmates a proper burial at sea, prayers included. And, traditionally, it was him who would say the words, but not a god fearing man himself, Gibbs was left to the duty. Everything else had always been a bit unorthodox aboard the _Pearl_, so why not this as well?

Jack had sailed the _Black Pearl_ out from Ambodiforaha and Sainte Marie the next morning at the crack of dawn and anchored a few leagues offshore with nothing but water on every side.

The two bodies, Timms and Labroc, sails sewn tightly around them, were brought up from below. The crew had gathered at the side of the _Pearl_ as Gibbs had cleared his throat. They were usually successful in their ventures, and such ceremonies were not committed often, but nonetheless, the first mate had the prayer memorized by heart.

So did Jack, and he said the words in his head while they were recounted aloud for all to hear.

"Eternal rest, grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace."

"Amen," every man aboard the ship chorused as one, a last and final goodbye to their two shipmates.

The bodies, held upon makeshift pyres at the side of the ship, were tipped gracefully and sent into the depths below.

That morning, the air was cold and heavy, the hot Indian sun somehow not reaching out enough to warm their skin.

**--**

It was a day later when Vivien was paid a visit once more. Her presence had been ignored once more save for the two meals that were delivered to the cabin twice a day. She'd been wandering the dusty cabin restlessly to satisfy her growing unease and stretch her cramped muscles. Days working aboard the _Black Pearl _had almost made her used to hard labour, and she felt rather like a blob of jelly just sitting around. Being a prisoner onboard Jack's ship certainly hadn't been so boring!

Then again, when Belfast was near her life was hardly boring.

Long after her lunch had been left, he burst through the door as she sat curled up upon the bed. He seemed to look triumphant, in a sense.

"Vivien, I have wonderful news!" he declared, and that was enough to know it was the opposite.

Vivien, however, was fixated on the man who had followed him in, hands clasped almost pleasantly behind his back. With hair black as coffee, dark eyes and a fitting moustache and goatee, she had, for a brief second, imagined him to be none other than Jack Sparrow. His manner of dress was somewhat similar, too. Her heart had fluttered, skipping beat, before she managed to compose herself.

But alas, as she gaped, staring harder, she noticed this man's nose was crooked as if broken, his lips thinner and hewascertainly not—dare she say?—as handsome as the _Black Pearl's _Captain. This man did not have the same air about him as the fleeting pirate had, and his clothes were clean and expensive. He was refined, Jack was uncouth. She couldn't help but thing they did share a sort of likeliness, however.

She was distracted from the new man when her guardian spoke once more.

"Vivien? Have you been listening?" Belfast inquired impatiently, and continued on without letting her answer. "We've past Madagascar and are now heading northwest towards your new home. _Señor _Antonio Elaido here has informed me that he knows of a small isle off the coast of Africa. We'll be dropping anchor by this time tomorrow," he told her almost pleasantly, but she could see the hint of malice in his eyes.

In turn, the Frenchwoman sent him a levelled glare. This certainly wasn't looking too good from her point of view. Tomorrow Belfast would once again have her holed up on an island, away from civilization and away from Jack.

If only…

_If only what?_ she wondered to herself. If only Jack would come? If only he knew where she was! If only she hadn't been kidnapped in the first place. If only her name wasn't Vivien Brideau…

"What? Don't you have anything to say, Vivien?" Belfast asked, smiling.

She looked up, feeling her hope sinking with every passing second. If only she had never met Dorian Belfast. If only her father hadn't been a pirate!

"What is there left to say?" she asked wearily. "You have taken everything from me once again."

Belfast seemed not to hear her. "Don't you wish to know the name of your new home?" he questioned, turning to the Spaniard. "What did you call it?"

The man smiled. "The Isles de Nasumento. Rarely visited and almost completely inhabited. Except for a few local merchants and French settlers."

Belfast nodded his approval. "They can be taken care of. I can't have Vivien's name leaving that island. Too much trouble has been stirred up already. I wouldn't be surprised if Captain Sparrow has told all of Sainte Marie about our little treasure here," he said, staring intently at the woman.

_Señor _Elaido smiled, dark eyes twinkling. "My crew would be happy to be of service to you. Of course, it would involve more in payment than originally settled. I don't go killing people without being sure I'm paid to do it."

How nonchalantly they decided her fate. Vivien sat immobile as the two began to haggle over a suitable price. A hefty sum of money, so no doubt it was to come from her father's treasure once it was recovered. Her treasure.

_What would Jack Sparrow do? _she found herself wondering. Something sneaky, no doubt. Something underhanded, but clever. Manipulative…

"You're wrong, both of you," she told them suddenly, surprising both men out of their conversation.

Antonio was the one to speak. _"¿Qué? _Has the mouse finally got her tongue back?" he arched an eyebrow at her.

Vivien wasn't amused. "I wouldn't be so confident while Jack Sparrow still has a ship beneath his feet," she told them both evenly, but felt her palms already beginning to sweat. _Mon Dieu, I am no good at deceit, _she realized fretfully.

Belfast stared at her calmly, watching her like a hawk, while Antonio seemed put off.

The Spaniard growled in annoyance. "What is she saying? What does she mean?" he demanded irritably, already fed up with both the meek woman and her towering guardian.

"Yes, what _do_ you mean by that? And don't you dare lie to me, Vivien," Belfast warned in that condescending tone of his, the one that Vivien hated so much.

Her fingers had fisted themselves in the folds of her skirt once more as Antonio turned to sneer at her. She tried not to wilt under the man's gaze but found she was failing miserably. _Jack will come, Jack will come, _she told herself firmly, believing it. She'd just have to wait it out. But even now, the fire had been set and she was watching it grow at a rapid pace. It was far too easy to slip and become careless with her words.

Belfast was staring, still. "I'm still waiting, Vivien," he said, attempting to intimidate her fully with his hefty stature, puffing himself out like a pigeon.

The Frenchwoman's heart thudded nervously in her chest. "What I mean…? What I mean is…" _Throw him off balance, Vivien! _she hissed at herself in her thoughts, and complied willingly. "You're wrong. I do know where my father's treasure is. The exact place, in fact. And I told Jack Sparrow. He said he'd give me a share if I cooperated, so I did," she blurted quickly, and scooted back on the bed even more when both the men's faces darkened considerably.

"Lies!" Belfast snarled, leaning over the woman like some wrathful demon, eyes ablaze. "You never knew where the treasure was and you never will!"

Swallowing, she jutted her chin out confidently. "A map was sent to me, by my father, years ago. Amaury told me to hide it from prying eyes, and that was exactly what I did!"

Belfast's face began to redden, and Antonio looked to be speechless.

_Keep them on their toes, _she reminded herself, and spoke again. "You're right. Jack may not come for me, but he will go to the Caribbean. He wants that treasure _very _much and he knows the place where it's hidden."

Belfast's jaw was working silently, his face burning with either humiliation or rage. He'd been had, or so he thought, and Vivien suspected it was a bit of both. Which wasn't a very good combination.

"Lying rat!" he hissed. "If you're so smart tell me where!" he demanded.

Her heart was thumping almost painfully beneath her ribcage as she answered. "You know. And so does Jack, who happens to have the fastest ship in the Caribbean. Your little wooden tub cannot match the _Black Pearl _for speed!" she spat haughtily.

Antonio Elaido's dark eyes clouded with rage, and she briefly wondered how she could have ever seen Jack in him. In one swift movement he had moved forward and dealt a powerful slap to Vivien's freckled cheek. Following the resounding _smack_ her head snapped to the side, her body falling to the side with only a shaking arm to steady her weight.

Burning pain erupted across her skin, along her jaw. The mild taste of copper on her tongue, the prickling of tears behind her eyes. Vaguely, she heard the sound of Belfast shouting, and carefully edged off the bed so that it stood between her and the two enraged men.

They were facing her now, Antonio's cheeks burning a red matching Belfast's, which she might have found humorous at any other time but now disregarded. Tears were stinging the edges of her eyes, but she forced herself to keep speaking. _Keep lying, keep baiting them._

"_Non__! Tu est tout stupide! Mon père…_he sent me a map of the Caribbean. I have it memorized! Every island and every town. I showed Jack Sparrow where it is. He'll be on his way to the Caribbean right now on his ship!" she shouted hysterically, the taste of blood in her mouth turning her stomach.

Belfast seemed more outraged that shocked. "You have lied to me? The one who keeps your home and quiets down the rumours, who hired your servants and chooks and maids! And bought you a horse – straight from the isles of Ireland?" he exclaimed, disbelieving, his deep voice booming through the small cabin.

Vivien couldn't help it. A tear leaked from her eye running over her glowing red cheek, swollen with visible finger marks. "I lied to you, _homme__ masscrante_, because you have stolen everything from me! _Mon foyer, ma liberté, ma vie! Vouz tout avez prise!" _

Belfast's eyes narrowed, the deep wrinkles around his eyes deepening. He took a menacing step towards Vivien, who in her turn snarled like some feral animal.

"_Je__ vous déteste, lâche avare!" _she spat out, too flustered to speak English.

Her guardian snorted. "Me? A coward! You didn't even put up a fight! You'll live on a miserable little island the rest of your life!"

"_Je__ m'en fous!__ Seulement si vous n'aurez jamais que vous voulez!"_

Belfast seemed slightly shaken by her last remark, and turned sharply from his quarry to glare at Antonio.

"Out!" he exclaimed angrily. "Get out!"

Antonio didn't dare disobey. Dorian Belfast may have been older than himself, but he certainly wasn't any less dangerous.

And, so, Vivien was left with her guardian, who she almost expected to stay and beat her, what with the rage gleaming in his eyes. She was surprised when he stalked from the room, slamming the doors so violently behind him the entire doorframe shook.

For a moment, the petite Frenchwoman stood still, tears still running down her cheeks, cheek red and swollen, heart thumping madly with adrenaline. Then, the energy leaked from her bones and she slumped forward, knees hitting the floor hard as she buried her face in the side of the bed.

There, she sat and wept, thanking the heavens again and again for sparing her life once more.

**--**

It was well past midday when Jack was interrupted from his duties at the helm. Since that morning, he had been standing in the same spot staring at the same horizon, but his mind had been far away. He had no clue as to where he was heading, but it was away from Sainte Marie.

It was almost a welcome relief when the monotony of his day was shattered. He watched as a small scuffle seemed to break out by the hatch leading down below, and Cotton hauled the cabin boy, Rupert up from below by the collar of his shirt before dragging another form up onto the deck. It was another boy, who as soon as his feet touched the deck, launched himself at Rupert with a howl of rage. The two fell to the deck in a tangle of limbs.

Without another thought, Jack lashed the helm in place and bounded down the steps leading to the main deck. Gibbs, he saw, had already stepped in, hauling Rupert away from the other boy while Cotton restrained the other by the shirt. Several other crewmembers had stopped their work, but Jack shot them all stern stares and they turned around swiftly, but kept their ears cocked.

"Oi! What's this all about?" he called as he reached the small group, the two boys hurling insults at each other.

Gibbs shook Rupert to quiet him before addressing his Captain. "Jack! Seems we got ourselves a stowaway, Cap'n. A right familiar one at that."

It was true. Jack had to peer at the boy to recognize him under his layers of dirt and grime, but when he did there was no mistaking him. He was Duncan, their young informant.

"Where'd you find the lad?" he questioned, turning to Cotton.

As always, the colourful parrot answered with a squawk. "Splice the mainbrace! Splice the mainbrace!" it said, ruffling its feathers and shaking its head in typical parrot fashion.

There was silence for a moment, as it usually took a moment for anyone to translate what the parrot had said into something sensible.

"The galley, then?" Jack asked.

Flapping its wings, the parrot replied, "Wind in the sails!"

Gibbs nodded. "Suppose so. Seems Rupert 'ere is the one who found 'im."

Nodding fervently in confirmation, the small cabin boy faced his Captain. "The rotten little weasel jumped me from ahind! Just swabbin' thedeck I was!"

Immediately, Duncan jumped to his own defence, sneering at Rupert. "Ah! Don't lie ye maggot! I saws ya with that bread! Reckon you stole it from the cupbaords! Some cabin boy you are!" He spat, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Hmph! That comin' from a street urchin?" the cabin boy snapped back. "At least I didn't have to stow away to get aboard a pirate ship!"

The two boys struggled to get at each other again, but were dutifully restrained by their captors. Several crew members who had gathered chuckled at the scene the two were making. Such an event was a welcome release from the day's tension.

Gibbs whacked Rupert atop the head once more. "Shut up the both of you! I reckon the Cap'n'll have a word or two to say about this," he said, looking to Jack.

Jack, in turn, surveyed the two bruised boys with a passive face before stating carelessly, "I'm feeling rather inclined to toss you both overboard!"

Rupert began to protest with a whine, but Jack swiftly cut him off.

"But I'll hold off a bit cause I'm curious as to know why Master Duncan has found himself aboard my ship once more," he shot the cabin boy a severe look before fixing his gaze upon Duncan once more. He cocked an eyebrow at the boy. "Last time I saw you, boy, you looked ready to jump out o' your own skin to get off the _Pearl. _What's changed your mind?"

Duncan was suddenly silent when faced by Captain Jack Sparrow himself.

"Well, come on, we don't have all day," he prompted, gesturing wildly.

Still, the boy seemed hesitant, but while pinned with the eyes of several crewmembers _and _Jack Sparrow, he couldn't stay silent long. "I was robbed, alright! All my bloody money's gone!" he spat, glaring at Rupert, who was snickering to himself. Gibbs smacked the cabin boy lightly over the head once more, and Rupert was resigned to rub his sore skull.

"By who, might I ask?" Jack pressed.

The boy crossed his arms angrily, mood darkened even further. "I dunno. I reckon it mighta been one of Eugene's cronies. Been after me since I—" he cut himself off abruptly, pursing his lips and refusing to say more.

Jack gave the boy a curious look, but didn't question him. "So you ran to the _Pearl?_ What did you think, that we'd give you a warm welcome? You know how stowaways are dealt with on my ship?" he asked, hoping intimidation would prompt the boy to be more cooperative. Jack wasn't in the best of moods today, after all.

"I have information!" Duncan said hurriedly, gazing beseechingly up at the pirate captain.

Feigning disinterest, Jack picked his fingernails. "Information? As I recall, you already told me everything I needed to know back in Ambodiforaha," he declared lazily.

"I got more," was the boy's quick reply.

By now, most the crew had gathered around to watch, and began whispering among themselves at this new revelation.

Jack's ears perked slightly, and he narrowed his eyes at his new passenger. "More, eh? Well, do you care to tell ol' Jack what this information might be?" he grinned persuasively.

Duncan, however, only seemed intimidated. "O-only if you don't throw me overboard! Or send me back! I want to stay on this ship."

Rupert opened his mouth briefly, eyes blazing, but shut it quickly as Gibbs's hold on his shoulders tightened.

Suppressing a chuckle, Jack peered down at Duncan. "And what makes you think you have what it takes to be a pirate, son?" he asked, taking in his half-starved appearance and raggedy clothes.

Duncan shot a distasteful glance at Rupert. "If _he_ can, who's to say I can't?"

Jack smirked briefly, watching the two boys snap at each other again. He remembered being very much like the two of them when he had been but a lad. Always getting in scuffles with the neighbourhood boys over silly things like who could swim the farthest out to sea or who could steal the most apples from a market stall…

"Alright, I'll accept you aboard the _Black Pearl _as a crewmember and cabin boy, but _only _if I find your information helpful. Otherwise, I'm afraid you'll be swimming back to L'île Sainte Marie," he threatened, but knew it was empty. He had never been overly cruel to prisoners or stowaways.

Looking, relieved, Duncan offered up his bargaining chip willingly. "The lady you're lookin' for, the French one, I know who's taken her," he declared confidently.

"Aye, I know that as well," Jack replied carefully.

"B-but I know the name of the ship! _And _where it's headed!"

**--**

**Translations:**

Voguer Sur Les Vagues – Sailing on the waves

¿Qué? – What?

Vous êtes tout stupide! – You are the stupid one!

Mon père… – My father…

homme masscrante – foul man

Mon foyer, ma liberté, ma vie! Vouz tout avez prise! – My home, my freedom, my life! You've taken everything!

Je vous déteste, lâche avare! – I hate you, miserly coward!

Je m'en fous! Seulement si vous n'aurez jamais que vous voulez! – I couldn't care less! Only if you never have what you want!

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	21. Deals, Dignity and Doubts

**The Trouble with Women**

**Chapter 20**

Deals, Dignity and Doubts

**--**

"B-but I know the name of the ship! _And _where it's headed!"

Jack smothered his surprise at the boy's words with a quick blink. Struggling not to seem over-enthusiastic (what would everyone think of Captain Jack Sparrow then?), he cocked his head plaintively at Duncan.

"Just a moment," he spoke, raising a finger. "You say you know that name of the ship _and _where it's headed, ay?"

Duncan nodded fervently, staring beseechingly up at the pirate. Excited whispering from the crew filled the silence between the two. Gibbs stood firmly with Rupert still held firmly, the latter of which was scowling at the other boy.

Jack licked his lips discreetly before leaning over the slightest to address Duncan. "And…how you happened upon such…significant information, son?" he questioned critically, wondering himself if this new was simply too good to be true.

"Well, ye see, sir, I were a bit curious after what you gone and questioned me 'bout earlier, and Eugene seemed to think it were somethin' important, so next I saw the bloke with the funny accent and 'is mates, I decided to follow them, ye see?" the boy began slowly. "An' t'wasn't long after I'd spoke to you, in fact, and I snuck right in a tavern and hid 'neath a table to listen to them. Spoke of a ship, they did, and where t'was going. They recounted their whole plan, they did, right in front of me and they didn't even know it!" Duncan finished proudly.

"Aye…" Jack murmured to himself, pursing his lips slightly. "And do you care to tell ol' Jack this plan o' theirs in exchange for safe passage aboard me _Pearl _hmm" he asked.

Duncan swallowed visibly. "No throwin' overboard?"

Jack's lips twitched in the slightest of smiles. "Nay."

"No lashing or whipping? And no starving or bein' tossed in yer brig?" he questioned quickly, brows furrowed.

Jack shook his head, beads clinking merrily. "Safe passage, son. I'll take you anywhere you wish along my route, savvy?"

Duncan nodded. "Aye, s-savvy."

Jack couldn't help the grin that twisted his lips. "Well now, why don't you tell me all about it, then?" he implored pleasantly, near crooning.

The scruffy boy spared Jack's numerous crew only one fidgety glance before launching himself into his story. "Well, first they gone an' talked about the Frenchie you was lookin' for, sayin' how they gots her and that they were planning on sailing out in less'n an hour. This was at night, if you was wondering—" he was cut off abruptly as Jack jumped in.

"Yes, yes, that's very fine and dandy. But what I _really _want to hear, is where they're headed," he prompted impatiently. He had the oddest feeling that they were wasting time even as they stood there, allowing Belfast to sail further from them with every passing moment…

"Aye…well, they said they was headed to an island round the southern tip of Maddie, didn't say exactly where. To drop of the Frenchie, they said, somethin' about keeping her locked up tight or the likes…" Duncan paused a moment before continuing. "They this Eliado bloke, he goes on to tell these two bums, Louis and Bardus, new recruits, that they'll be sailing to the Cape o' good hope, they said, an' round the southern tip o' Africa and onto the Cary…Carib-Caribbean Islands."

Jack took a moment to let this information settle. Belfast and Elaido were planning on dropping Vivien off on another island for safekeeping? He realized, with some chagrin, that he wouldn't be able to follow after and retrieve the Frenchwoman simply because he had no clue where she was being taken. The only thing he could hope for was that Vivien had managed to keep herself aboard, which would save him a lot of trouble and grief in the long run.

However, there was still one piece missing…

Snapping from his reverie, Jack fixed Duncan with a wild stare. "The ship! What's the ship's name, boy?"

The boy started slightly before managing to stutter out an answer. "_L-la Sangre de Mar, _C-cap'n sir!"

_Wonderful_! Jack could have shouted aloud, but instead settled for a grin of triumph and turned swiftly.

"Anamaria!"

There was a few second's delay before an answer was heard.

"What're you squwakin' about now, Sparrow?" the mulatto woman's voice demanded, and Jack's head snapped about in time to see her descending the steps from the helm. "What did ya think you were doin', leaving the bloody helm unattended like that!" she shrieked, pushing through the gathered crewmembers to stand before Jack.

"Anamaria," he greeted her kindly.

She tilted her chin high. "What'd ya want? I was workin' before you decided to let this bloody ship drift about!" she snapped, clearly not in the best of moods.

Jack merely smiled. "Set a course south immediately. We're headed for the Cape of good hope."

Anamaria's eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch, and she seemed to read his mind. "And what'll you be doing, eh?" she queried.

"Why, love, I'll be charting the course back 'ome," he replied pleasantly before pausing. "But first…" He turned back to Duncan, his eyes staying on the boy a moment before settling on Rupert.

"Rupert, I believe you had your work to do before you caught our stowaway, here. If you'd be so kind as to continue, I'd be much obliged." He dismissed the cabin boy, who seemed baffled by his Captain's lack of gratitude. Duncan, Jack noticed, seemed to be revelling in Rupert's misery.

Jack faced Gibbs. "Joshamee, would you fetch an extra mop and bucket?"

Gibbs nodded with a grin, knowing exactly what the Captain had in mind.

Jack turned to Duncan once more, his face serious. "Do you know what we do to little stowaways besides lashing, whipping, torture, keelhauling and tossing overboard of?" he asked gravely, and suppressed a smug smile when the boy shook his head hesitantly. "Well, we give them duties lower than those of the cabin boy, and extra hours which include the cleaning of the brig."

Suddenly, Duncan didn't seem so happy to be aboard the _Black Pearl, _and Rupert seemed quite pleased.

Lastly, Jack faced the crew, who were mulling about the deck uselessly. Adjusting the hat atop his head with purpose, Jack began belting out orders.

"Get to it, you lazy dogs! Belay your slacking or I'll have you all at the sweeps! Let down and haul to run free! We're headed for the Cape of good hope!"

**--**

Louis and Bardus were not pleased.

First, they had been stripped naked and made to jump from the _Black Pearl, _near a crowded port town with many onlookers.

Secondly, they had watched as Beckham had been shot dead before their eyes.

Thirdly, they had been made to kidnap Jack Sparrow's already captured prisoner (which they both knew wasn't the brightest of things).

Fourthly, they hadn't yet received the money they'd been promised.

And fifth and last, they now found themselves aboard _La Sangre de Mar, _under the command of a Spaniard and his crazed employer, still with no money while being made to swab the decks. Apparently, the ship hadn't had a cabin boy in long while. The deck was absolutely filthy, and it seemed as though none of the crew seemed inclined to do a thing about it.

"Never should have made such a deal," Louis muttered to himself, straightening from his swabbing. Beside him, Bardus cocked an eyebrow.

"What?"

Louis snorted. "Look at us! Swabbing the decks for some madman of a pirate, no better off than we were on the _Black __Pearl. _And I, for one, would like to know where our three hundred guineas have run off to!"

Bardus stared dumbly. "I forgot about that…"

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Louis spat on the deck. "Of course you did! You've got a skull thicker than…than…" he trailed off, unable to find something suitably thick enough that would apply to his companion.

"Thicker 'n what?" Bardus prompted, seemingly not at all offended.

"Never you mind!" Louis scowled, and sloshed his mop savagely about in the small wooden bucket before slapping it onto the dirty wood.

The sudden, loud slamming of a hatch jolted the two mates from their work, and they looked up in time to see none other than Belfast and Antonio Elaido stomp up from below decks. Both looks furious and Belfast was so red in the face he appeared to have sunburn.

Louis and Bardus exchanged a glance before glancing about them. The rest of the Spaniard's crew seemed unfazed by the two angry men and were working as usual, in a lazy state of mind. Louis remembered that Sparrow would never have allowed such slackers aboard his ship.

The two men watched as the Captain and Belfast made their way to the forecastle, not ten yards away. They began a heated discussion, and Louis cocked an ear to hear every word.

"If she's telling the truth, do you know what that means?" Belfast was asking with a frown.

"For us, you mean?" Antonio groused.

"It _means_ that our whole plan has to be changed. We don't have the time to dally around and get rid of Vivien, so we'll have to keep her with us!"

"That _demonio._ _¡Usted bromea!_ Don't joke with me!" the Spaniard exclaimed.

Belfast regarded him levelly. "Since when do I joke?" he paused. "We will change our course immediately and head for Cape Town as planned."

"With the woman onboard?"

"Yes. Where else would she be?" Belfast arched his bushy eyebrows at Antonio.

The Spaniard scowled. "I thinking along the lines of 'the bottom of the ocean.'"

Belfast laughed humourlessly. "She won't be visiting Davy Jones for a long time yet, Antonio. She's useful to us still."

"By attracting Jack Sparrow to use like a hound!" he spat venomously. "She can't possibly be a good thing. You remind me constantly about this infamous _Capitán_ Jack Sparrow and his ship, so must take your warning to heart. Having your _Señorita _aboard is giving me a headache."

"She isn't going anywhere, _Señor _Elaido. Keep your complaints to yourself. I am the one who is paying you, after all."

Louis snorted softly to himself at this. _At least one of us is getting paid, _he thought angrily. It humoured him, however, that the small little Frenchwoman he had encountered aboard the _Black Pearl_ was giving everyone so much trouble.

He turned his attention back to the conversation, which was ending. Belfast was half turned from the Spaniard when he turned back, face sombre.

"Oh, and Antonio?"

"_¿Sí?" _The Spaniard cocked an eyebrow, leaning nonchalantly on the wooden side rail.

"Don't ever lay a hand on Vivien again."

Louis watched carefully as Belfast made his way down below one more, leaving Antonio seething in his wake.

He turned to Bardus, who was similarly frozen, his brow furrowed.

"Trouble in paradise, _mon__ ami,_" he grinned.

**--**

Jack was standing cheerfully at the helm, watching Rupert and the newest addition to his crew bicker back and forth as they swabbed the decks. He had relieved Anamaria of the wheel and now, every once in a while the mulatto would stray from her duties to smack the two boys upside the head or twist their ears while giving them a good talking too. Every intervention only worked for several minutes until one of the boys would set the other off with a misplaced comment or look.

Oh yes, Jack remembered those days well. He'd been worse than the two boys put together, endlessly causing his ma and da grief.

"Odd one that Duncan is," a voice stated, surprising him somewhat, although he didn't show it.

Jack turned to face Gibbs, keeping a firm grip on the wheel all the while. "Nay, just a tad bit misguided. I imagine he resembles myself somewhat. In manner, of course." He cast a glance at the two boys just in time to catch Rupert inconspicuously hitting Duncan on the behind with the handle of his mop. "And Master Rupert, too. Perhaps all boys are like that, eh, Gibbs?" he chuckled.

"Maybe so," the older man replied, and watched as Jack quickly lashed the wheel in place before turning fully.

"Now, what's the problem?" the Captain asked, cocking his head, baubles jingling. "And don't tell me there isn't one because you wouldn't be up here distracting me if there weren't."

Ignoring the man's babbling, Gibbs regarded Jack seriously. "Jack…Cap'n…I'm thinking you better quit while you're ahead."

The pirate Captain fixed his first mate with a careful stare. "What's that supposed to mean, I wonder?" he asked evenly, his face giving away nothing.

Gibbs suddenly seemed to be slightly uncomfortable. "Two of the crew, Jack," he told his friend and superior. "Two good fine men already dead on this venture o' yours. Three have deserted to help the enemy. I'm asking if you're willing to risk any more to get this lass back, Jack."

Jack held his ground, tilting his head back slightly to give off a look of authority. "We've been chasing after this treasure for months, now, Mister Gibbs, and you wish to quit now that we're so close to finally acquiring our reward?" he demanded.

"Well…" he now seemed to be in indecision.

Jack watched Gibbs carefully, barely catching the flash of guilt that crossed the man's face. It was about Vivien, of course. Gibbs, despite being somewhat hesitant to associate with the woman at first, had somehow let her get a hold of him. Not in a bad way, of course, but could certainly be looked as so. Jack, after all, was experiencing much of the same when it came to the petite Frenchwoman.

Anamaria, too, was fond of Vivien. Female companionship was something she rarely found, and Vivien was, perhaps, both understanding and acceptant towards the female pirate. Most of the crew had formed a small but strong attachment to Vivien, and if it concerned her fortune or not, Jack wasn't quite sure. She was a woman that was hard not to become fond of.

Jack's own fancy for Vivien had something to do with, oddly enough, her smile. Maybe even her green eyes. And damn him if he'd ever admit it, but he rather liked her as a whole. And he knew that Gibbs didn't _really _want to abandon the woman or her treasure. What a loss that would be…

Snapping from his reverie, Jack patted his bewildered first mate on the back before he could think up a reasonable reply. "O' course not! We'll chase down our bonny lass and she'll lead us right to the treasure! How can you resist that, mate?" he prompted, eyes wide.

Gibbs's brow was furrowed. "I…"

"Glad to see you agree." Jack jumped in once more. "Now leave me in peace, man! You're a bit of a bother this morning," he paused a moment, "As well as that, get Anamaria up here before she ends up throwing one of those boys overboard," he said, and sauntered away from the helm, leaving a defeated Gibbs in his wake.

**--**

**Translations: **(Just a few bits you may not know)

Demonio_ - _devil

¡Usted bromea! – You joke!

Mon ami – my friend

**--****Cayenne**** Peppeer Powder**


	22. The Tables Turned

**The Trouble with Women**

**Chapter 21**

The Tables Turned

**--**

Eight days, it was, Jack recounted in his head, since he had last seen Vivien Brideau. Eight days of hard sailing and bad weather. Eight days of restless activity and seven nights of poor sleeping, it had been.

He'd spent most of it at the helm, watching the sea ahead for any signs of _La Sangre de Mar. _No sails appeared on the horizon, however, and as they sailed southward the weather steadily grew bolder. Jack realized it was the middle of winter—he hardly ever considered things such as season when he was in the Caribbean—and winters around the southern tip of Africa tended to be a bit cooler and rougher than he was used to.

Not that he couldn't handle the challenge, however.

Indeed, they had sailed into joint waters, where the Atlantic and the Indian met. A steady fog had gathered as he sailed them inland. The Cape of Good Hope was a good days sailing away, but Jack was finding it increasingly difficult to navigate when he couldn't scan the sea before him. As a result, they had slowed their speed, the crew pulling down and tweaking various sails. There wasn't much wind to go on, but Jack wasn't willing to crash his _Pearl _into an outcropping of rocks when it could be well avoided.

Jack glanced down at his compass and adjusted the helm slightly.

He sniffed in distaste. The air was heavy and cool. He wouldn't be surprised if a sudden storm was added to his list of troubles.

The _Pearl _was creaking gently as she cut through the dark waters, her ropes and wood groaning and aching. He would have to haul her ashore before long and give her a good careening, as well as minor repairs. It wasn't good to keep a ship out in the water so long while pushing her so hard.

_Isn't good for the crew, either, _Jack mused, his eyes picking out each of his crewmembers on deck. Most of them looked to be dozing.

He spotted Anamaria making her way toward him. Her boots clomped loudly up the set of stairs leading to the helm before stopping at his side. He cast a quizzical look at her

"Why don't you let me at the helm for a while? I notice that you're beginning to sag on your feet," she pointed out with a straight face.

Jack pretended not to hear her last remark. "Aye, I'll go topside and wake old Nob," he stated idly, fingering the small spyglass in his coat pocket.

Anamaria smirked. "I suspect he nodded off a good hour ago," she said, and took the tiller from her Captain.

Jack glanced about at his crew, noting their lethargic movements. "I suppose I could've been working them too hard," he murmured, mostly to himself.

The mulatto woman snorted. "A slave-driver you are. We'd be glad for this fog if it wasn't such a nuisance."

Again, Jack ignored her remark. He left the helm in favour for the crow's nest.

**--**

She was restless.

It had already been a week! One day over a week, Vivien had been told, since she had been snatched from the _Black Pearl _in Ambodiforaha. It didn't seem that long, of course, but longer. The days seemed to drag on like two or three, and being confined to the small cabin below decks was beginning to drive her insane! At least, though, she had somehow managed to persuade the man who delivered her meals toraise the blinds on the windows. That allowed her a view of the surrounding sea, and she had taken to sitting by the window and watching the murky swells rolls up and down, taking the ship along with them.

She found herself doing that very thing this day, a full week since she had been captured. Her mind was wandering over the events that had taken place.

A whole week.

Dare she even think it, but she was begging to wonder if Jack Sparrow was coming for her after all. Goodness knows he was a hard man to read. Had she had him confused this whole time? Had he simply given up?

_No, _she told herself, but then sighed.

She remembered the faces of Gibbs and Anamaria, a woman who had been quite close to being the only true friend she had ever had. She recalled Cotton, a mute sailor who had miraculously managed to train his parrot to talk for him, and Rupert, the young cabin boy. She hadn't gotten to know many of the men aboard the _Pearl_, and she certainly didn't know all their names, but their faces were familiar.

A fleeting image of Timms lying dead in a pool of his own blood crossed her mind, and she shuddered with the memory.

Maybe she was too much of a burden for Jack to come after. She had already cost him at least four men, she knew.

Was she worth it? Oh god, she hoped so.

Was her father's treasure worth it? When that particular thought presented itself, she forced it away hurriedly. Vivien didn't much like the thought of being valued just for her father's immense fortune. She wondered if, when Jack came, if that would be the only thought on his mind. She was useless otherwise, wasn't she?

Vivien recalled with a sudden jolt that she didn't even know where this great treasure was.

She, truthfully, wasthe one who was using Jack, and he didn't even know it. That particular revelation made her skin crawl. She forced her overactive mind to settle.

Vivien returned to staring at the dark waves. A thick grey fog had gathered over the water, and what little light there was, was fading quickly. Vivien dreaded this time of day. She hated the dark.

**--**

Jack reached the crow's nest with ease, scaling the rigging with years of experience and hard earned lessons under his belt. It helped too, that there wasn't the slightest bit of a breeze to knock him off balance. On the contrary, everything seemed to be still and quiet.

That was not a sign Jack necessarily liked. Who knew what rocks or reefs lay hidden in the waters surround his ship?

With one last heave, the pirate Captain pulled himself up over the side of the nest. He then regarded Thomas Nob, an elderly man with a scraggly white beard and bushy white eyebrows, as he lay huddled in a scrap of a blanket, back to the mast and boots hanging over the edge of the platform. He was snoring softly in his sleep, and Jack noticed the old man's telescope was lying discarded, ready to plunge to the deck.

Quickly, he snatched the object up before leaning over to shake Nob gently awake.

Jack's hand was shrugged off with an accompanied derisive snort. The man continued to sleep.

"Wake up, Nob…" Jack said lowly, frowning to himself.

The old man grumbled, snorting slightly. His beard shifted as he wiggled his nose irritably.

Jack stroked his braided beard for a moment before a slow grin curled on his lips. Carefully, he leaned forward and took hold of the man's shirt before attempting to rouse him again.

"Nob, I said wake up! The French bastards are attacking and they've got o'er a hundred men on horses!" he shouted loudly.

Immediately, the man shot up from his sleep and nearly catapulted himself out of the crow's nest with a feral snarl twisting his face.

"I'll kill the lot of 'em, the ruddy faces frogs!" Nob hollered, and was towed back to the safety of the platform by his captain. Then, as if suddenly realizing that he was over a hundred feet above the deck of a ship, which was in the middle of the ocean, he calmed quite quickly. Turning shakily, he met the sight of Jack's grinning face.

The old man snorted indignantly in realization. "That was awful cruel o' ye, Cap'n. Wakin' a man with such words."

It was common fact that Thomas Nob was a former man of the army who had clashed blades with many a French soldier over his younger years. He had hundreds of stories that were well known on the _Pearl _and nearly as entertaining as Jack's were. It was also known that he wasn't overly fond of the French, making him a terrible hypocrite when he took a liking to the jumpy Vivien during her stay onboard.

Jack grinned at the hold man and handed him his telescope. "Best not lose this, mate."

Nob took it grudgingly. "Aye, thankee Cap'n," he nodded his thanks.

"I'll take the next watch, Nob. Get on down below and into the galley. That's where most the men are," he said, and then grinned cheekily. "You're too damn old to be climbing the rigging anyway, mate."

Thomas Nob gave Jack a stern glare. "Aye, old enough to be yer pa. Best respect yer elders, we ain't as dumb as ye think."

Jack patted the man on his back as he started down the rigging. "Aye, now be gone with you. Check up on me two cabin boys while you're down below, savvy?"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n."

Nob slowly began to climb down from the rigging, and Jack watched him carefully until he was safely on deck before turning his attention to the surrounding fog.

He pulled his own spyglass from the pocket of his coat and stood up. Hooking one arm around the mast, Jack snapped it out to its full length and peered through the small hole. His vision was met with a wall of fog as far as the eye could see. There was nothing of interest. Hehuffedto himself and snapped the small compass down to size before sinking down to sit on the wooden platform.

Eight days should have been long enough to catch up to Belfast and Elaido, but maybe he had underestimated their ship. Or overestimated his own…

Face stony, Jack's dark eyes searched the fog keenly.

A wisp of fog uncurled before him suddenly, several hundred yards ahead, and the dark shape of a ship's hull slowly took form. Eyes widening, Jack scrambled with his spyglass before raising it to his eye. And there it was. He traced the patterns of dark wood with his eyes, searching for a name to place on the vessel.

_La__ Sangre de Mar, _painted ornately across the back of the ship's hull, was presented to him.

Deftly, Jack deposited the spyglass into his coat pocket before sliding over the edge of the crow's nest and climbing swiftly down the rigging.

If he could see them, he was certain they could see him. He needed to get to Anamaria and tell her to pull back so they could formulate a plan of attack.

**--**

"I say we load up our bloomin' cannons, arm ourselves to the teeth and give the sleeveen's a right holy show!" Fowler's voice boomed loudly in the Captain's cabin where Jack, Gibbs, Anamaria, Cotton and Fowler had gathered for a meeting. They all sat around the Captain's large table, debating suitable ways to overtake _La Sangre de Mar_ and retrieve Vivien's Brideau.

Anamaria wasn't impressed by Fowler's idea. "Aye, and we'll send a cannon right into Vivien while we're at it! Or sink the bloody ship while she's on it!" she scowled at the men around her.

Gibbs hummed a moment before raising a finger. "We create a diversion and then blast them with our cannons!" he stated heartily. "That'll give the blighters something to remember us by!"

The mulatto woman wondered if she was the only sense in the whole room. "I'm thinking we shouldn't use any cannon fire at all."

The men stared at her with wide eyes, all except for Jack. He had hardly said a word since he had sat down.

"Are ye fluthered, little bird?" Fowler near howled.

Anamaria gave him a steely glare. "Nay, only using common sense. As I said before, using cannons will more likely end in Vivien's death than her rescue. Wood is deadly when it splinters, Irishman," she stated coolly. "Ever had a split piece o' wood imbed itself in your side?"

Mr. Cotton's parent screeched its agreement.

"She's right," Gibbs added solemnly. "We need another plan, something they won't be expecting…" He trailed off and pondered quietly.

Fowler nodded reluctantly. "Aye. I suppose they'll beon the lookout."

The table was silent. Jack seemed to be deep in thought.

Mr. Cotton's parrot squawked restlessly, hopping about on the old man's shoulder. Before anything could be done, the parrot flapped its wings experimentally and skittering across the table, knocking a lantern over with a bad landing. The candle fell and the flame was extinguished as hot wax covered the wick, and the parrot danced around nervously as several of the table's occupants attempted to catch the bird.

Mr. Cotton assumed a look of distress as the bird went on to knock over Fowler's tankard of rum before flapping down onto Jack's hat, which sat securely on his head.

Curiously, however, Jack didn't seem to notice. His eyes were fixed dazedly on the toppled lantern.

"Cap'n?" Gibbs ventured.

"That's it!" Jack shouted, startling the parrot atop his head.

"What?" Anamaria questioned him worriedly, watching the colourful bird nestle down on his hat once more.

Jack stood suddenly, making the parrot squawk in protest. "The lanterns! Extinguish all the lights on the ship. When darkness falls I want this ship to be as black as night. We'll wait until midnight before making our attack. We'll steal aboard quiet-like, none of this cannon fire and screaming bloody murder, savvy? They won't know what hit 'em!" he stated ecstatically, and the next moment froze.

Slowly, he looked up, feeling an unnatural weight settled on his head.

"And, will someone get this bloody bird off of my hat before I have it in my stew tonight!" he bellowed angrily, and his crew jumped to aid him, a chorus of "Yessirs!" filling the air.

However, Mr. Cotton's parrot took flight as Fowler lunged, hands outstretched, tripping over his fallen tankard. Both men were sent to the floor with a thud.

Anamaria looked on with a grin.

**--**

Night fell swiftly upon the two ships, but as it stretched on time seemed to slow to a crawling pace.

Jack watched _La Sangre de Mar _like a hawk, cautious for any signs of being seen. The smaller ship had anchored for the night. He supposed the Captain didn't want to risk sailing in fog at night. It was not a smart move, in Jack's opinion, when being hunted. It had, however, forced him to anchor his own ship for the night, or at least until the time was right to make a quick getaway.

All of the lights on board had been extinguished. Not even a lantern in the hold was allowed now. The _Black Pearl _had been plunged into darkness, and as the night wore on, the blood in Jack's veins pumped wildly. The fog has stayed faithful, cloaking the dark ship and hiding it from view.

He stood up in the crow's nest once more, this time with a bottle of rum at his side. To calm him raging nerves, of course. Jack could hardly remember a time when he's been so anxious before a battle. But then again, he didn't regularly station rescue missions.

Jack took a deep swig from the bottle before corking it and fitting his spyglass into his coat. He figured it was about time, and if all went well he was worrying about nothing.

As soon as his feet hit the deck he headed for Anamaria, who stood looking out over the water by the helm. The whole plan was nailed into his head by now. He'd gone over it long enough with himself.

"I want Roberts at the helm when we attack," he told the mulatto woman quietly as he stepped up to the helm. "If he protests, tell him they're direct orders from me."

She nodded shortly before descending the stairs to the main deck. Jack fished the spyglass from his pocket once more, keeping a close eye on the ship as the crew was roused for the nearing ambush. He glanced up where the moon hung fat above them, now just a hazy light in the fog.

It was time.

The young lad, Roberts, came to the helm a moment later, looking none too pleased. Jack, however, needed someone to steer the ship while he, Gibbs and Anamaria were gone.

He handed over the spyglass and gave him a few last-minute instructions. "I'll send up a signal when we need you-and you'll know it when you see it.I've picked ten men to stay behind, so keep them ready to weigh anchor. I want you to keep a straight course and follow from a distance. Don't let her be seen, savvy?" He lofted an eyebrow at the youth.

Roberts nodded silently.

"Good lad," Jack grinned, slapping him heartily on the back before swaggering down the steps to the main deck.

Already the boats were being lowered over the sides and crowds were forming at the railings. Sound was being kept to the minimum, but the pirates were still murmuring lowly.

Jack stepped into the middle of the deck and cleared his throat. He waited until all his men were listening before speaking.

"As you all know, this is somewhat of a rescue mission! That is, rescue what's valuable and leave what is not. And, of course, you might want to kill a few men while you're at it…" He grinned as chuckles ran through the group. "Remember, however, that Vivien Brideau is aboard that ship, so watch where you're shooting! Now get in the boats!"

The crew eagerly complied, piling into the ships rowboats and checking their weapons once they were settled. Jack positioned himself at the forward of the first ship, one foot resting on the bow and striking a pose (for the sake of appearances, of course).

The dark waters lapped gently at the sides of the boat as the men rowed smoothly up to _La Sangre de Mar. _It emerged suddenly from the fog, hardly as impressive at the _Black Pearl_. Golden lights bobbed about on it's deck, a clear beacon for someone such as Jack Sparrow.

The boats were maneuvered easily up to its sides, and several grappling hooks were readied. Fowler was managing one, and he let it swing several times over his head before letting it fly up to the ship. It caught hold of the railing, and after the Irishman tugged it several times, he handed the rope over to Jack.

The pirate Captain turned to his men and grinned, tipping his hat slightly. "See you at the top, mates."

**--**

**Translations: **

None? What's the world coming to?

**-****Cayenne**** Peppeer Powder**


	23. Camaraderie

**The Trouble with Women**

**Chapter 22**

Camaraderie

**--**

Slowly, Jack poked his head over the side of the ship, froze, and surveyed the deck. A hazy glow from the hidden moon cast an eerie silver light over the deck, that when mixed with the thick fog lingering about the ship, caused an unwanted memory to come unbidden to his mind. He almost expected a rotting corpse to spring out of nowhere at any moment, but silently laughed at himself for even thinking of such a thing. The ship's deck was near deserted with only one scruffy sailor on watch. He stood slumped over the wheel of the helm, snoring softly.

Jack grinned. _Fools, _he thought to himself, and pulled himself swiftly over the railing. His boots landed silently on the deck of the ship, and he listened to the creaking of the wood and the lapping of the waves below. From where he stood, he could see four of his men clambering onto the main deck from their rowboats positioned around the ship. The man at the helm didn't move an inch.

Behind him, Anamaria pulled herself onto the ship, leaned over the side and signalled for the next man to climb up. She stepped up beside Jack, eyes darting about the deserted ship.

"Not much to look at," she stated mildly in a hushed voice.

Jack nodded. "I still can't believe she managed to keep ahead of us for over a week."

"She must have a good Captain," the female pirate murmured back.

Jack spared her a sidelong glare before turning to help Gibbs struggled over the side.

"All clear, Cap'n?" wheezed the portly man, holding a hand to his gut.

"Aye," Jack smiled. "Remember the plan, mate. Be sure to send the boats back to the _Pearl_when we're all aboard, then spread out. Find the Captain and Belfast." He turned to Anamaria. "And _you_ remember to keep out of the way and concentrate on finding Vivien, savvy?"

"Aye," both chorused quietly.

More than half of the _Black __Pearl__'s _crew had stolen aboard now, and they had all gathered quietly to await their orders. Many already held weapons at the ready; pistol's drawn from belts and daggers in between teeth.

Unwilling to disappoint, Jack unsheathed his cutlass. "Then let's get to it."

**--**

Vivien awoke sharply, her eyes wide in the darkness of the small cabin.

Silence. What had woken her?

She lay still in the small cot. The blankets lay thin over her body, and the cool night air seeped through as if it were a sieve. Almost cautiously, her eyes moved to the porthole. A pale glow from the moon shone weakly onto the floor. She was aware of the ever present smell of the sea, as well as the musky dampness of the fog that engulfed the ship.

Yet, there was nothing to explain her current wakefulness. It was deep into night. She should have been sleeping.

She breathed shallowly, unwilling to move. The ship swayed as it always did, rolling gently as it was anchored in place.

Vivien closed her eyes with a soft sigh and rolled onto her side, bringing the coarse fabric of her blankets with her.

For several minutes, she hovered just outside the land of the sleeping.

Until, that is, a gunshot shattered the night time silence.

Starting up from the bed, Vivien hastily threw the covers to the side. Heart pounding, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and her bare feet touched the cool wood of the floor. Then, she sat and listened.

Gradually, there came the thumping of the crewmen as they were wakened from their hammocks. Yelling, shouting, banging. Men ran through the passageway's in every direction, the sound of steel being drawn in the midst of the fray.

Vivien started as another gunshot went off, and she jumped up from the bed.

There was only one name on her mind, one man who could have caused such a ruckus.

_Jack…_

Vivien's heart swelled with some unknown emotion, and she started purposefully towards the door. Her hand stopped inches from the knob, however, when she realized not one, but three things. The door was locked, she didn't have a weapon, and there were currently some very angry men out there, no doubt looking for someone to hurt…

Vivien decided quite suddenly that she would stay in her room and wait it out.

Or, rather, wait for someone familiar to rescue her.

_Mais premièrement..._she reached over to the table by the bed and plucked up the lantern. Quickly, she extinguished the candle and settled down with the lantern clutched tight in her hands. She wouldn't be caught defenceless this time.

**--**

Captain Antonio Elaido woke suddenly, a chill running through his body and a scream echoing in his eardrums. He lay bathed in a cold sweat, his dark eyes wild.

It had been he who had screamed in such anguish, in his dreams. He couldn't remember why.

The ship was silent.

Breathing heavily, his eyes darting about rapidly in the darkness of the room, he tried to reason with himself and shake the sound from his mind. There seemed to be complete silence on board…

But what was that?

He listened carefully to the sound of quiet footsteps above, on deck at the helm. Silence. Then a muffled thump. He frowned to himself.

He could hear several pairs of boots wandering about the deck. He couldn't recall his men taking to midnight strolls. Everyone should have been in their rightful places, asleep or on watch.

Something was wrong.

Carefully, he drew the covers aside and slipped from his bed. He wore nothing but a pair of breeches to bed tonight, and only because of the cool fog. Usually, he would sleep in the nude. Tonight he had not. All he needed to do was slip a shirt on and find his weapons.

His pistol was on the desk. His cutlass hung from the chair along with his belt. Almost as an afterthought he slipped on his overcoat embroidered with silver stitching and buttoned up the middle button.

Slowly, he approached the doors leading from his cabin on deck. He could still hear the soft footsteps around his ship, multiplying by the minute. Like little mice sneaking about under the cat's nose. He had a nagging suspicion of what was happening and had no intention of letting it go as planned.

Jack Sparrow would not recover his precious Vivien Brideau tonight.

Pistol in one hand, he turned the knob on the door, stepping forward the slightest…and threw it open with a startling _bang_.

Within the few seconds after the door flew open, Antonio raised his pistol with a snarl on his lips.

The nearest intruder went down with a bullet lodged in his head.

The whole deck had been alerted when he had opened the door, and now the whole ship had been alerted by the gunshot.

The result, quite believably, was unrestrained chaos. _La Sangre de Mar's _men burst from below with feral cries on their lips, weapons drawn. The crew of the _Black Pearl _met them with gusto.

Antonio Elaido drew his own sword and threw himself down the steps with a yell.

**--**

Although in the beginning Anamaria had been somewhat put off by the orders Jack had given her, she was well aware why he had done so. Besides to peeve her, of course, she knew that he trusted her to get the job done. Less could be said for others aboard the _Pearl _and she thought it had something to do with them being men…

But Jack, no matter how much he denied it, did care for the strange Frenchwoman in much the same was Anamaria herself did. She suspected, however, that his manner of 'liking' had more to do with the fact that Vivien was a woman and not a complete frog. While Jack was smitten, Anamaria was amiable towards Vivien because she was, well, friendly. And terribly amusing.

So, she took her orders in good stride. And seriously.

By the time the first shot had been fired above, Anamaria was already scouring the decks below for a lone, locked cabin that could contain the imprisoned woman. And when the men aboard the ship began thundering up to the main deck, she slipped easily into the shadows between some stray barrels and waited it out, watching the stream of men scramble about half-dressed and groggy.

They would be no match for the _Pearl _she told herself with a grin, and moved on when all was still below once more.

Above, the fight raged on.

**--**

As much as it might have chagrined his dearly departed mother, it was completely true that Jack Sparrow enjoyed a good battle every now and again. No, not that he enjoyed the loss of human life or the blood that stained the decks. It was something else entirely from that. More of the rush he got every time a crazed lunatic wielding a sword came rushing at him screaming and he managed to successfully best him.

Yes, that was it.

The adrenaline rush. The excitement. The camaraderie. Jack Sparrow loved every moment of it.

Proof of that was evident when the crew of _La Sangre de Mar_ came pouring up on deck in the dim moonlight. The crewmen of the _Pearl _had been ready, throwing themselves into battle as one of their comrades lay dead on the deck with a bullet in his head. This only spurred their cause. Jack had raised his cutlass and met the rush head-on, meeting each thrust of a sword that came his way with a skilfully placed strike of his own.

The man he was currently fighting had a long, ugly scar running down the side of his face and a cutlass that was twice the size of his own. No bother, however. He wielded the large weapon without skill or experience.

Jack met a stroke meant for his throat, stumbling slightly before shoving the man away.

"For having such a large sword, you certainly can't do much with it, can ye?" he quipped to the man as swung again. It was well known that Jack enjoyed sparring words just as much as weapons, even when his opponent wasn't likely to understand him…

Jack listened with a slight wince to the string of Spanish curse words that flew from his opponent's mouth as he blocked another strike.

"Now, now, a hairy monkey with no testicles? That's a bit harsh, mate…" he stated with mock reproach, while at the same time thrusting his cutlass towards the man's stomach.

It was parried swiftly.

Frowning, Jack hit again, but his opponents weapon swung back unexpectedly, slicing off a nice corner of Jack's shirt.

"Oi! I don't have a bloody seamstress onboard!" Jack glared as if wounded, and the man grinned with a row of yellowed teeth as he raised his sword once more.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for Jack, a moment later the man was dead. Another sword had speared him straight through the chest. Wrinkling his nose, Jack watched as the dead body slid to the deck, revealing a red-faced Gibbs with a bloodied cutlass.

"And I was just about to finish the bugger off!" Jack said testily.

The portly man shrugged helplessly. "It looked like ye needed a spot of help..." he paused. "Shouldn't you be findin' the Captain o' this cursed vessel?"

Jack froze in mid-retort. "Ah yes, the—" He was cut off at Gibbs's frantic cry.

"Behind ye!"

It was a very good thing that Jack happened to have quick reflexes, as if he had turned a bit slower there would have been a sword though his side, precisely where the liver was located, and no doubt that would have been extremely painful. As luck would have it, however, he just managed to meet his attacker's weapon with his own, albeit somewhat awkwardly.

Jack glared at his opponent. "Now, what is it with you Spaniards? Cheaters the lot of you!"

The man before him suddenly seemed to shrink. "C-cap'n?" he sputtered.

Jack stared at the man incredulously. "Louis?"

Louis, as it was indeed the former crewmate, immediately lowered his weapon, lurching away as if burned. "Cap'n?"

"Former Captain," Jack corrected, eyeing him. "Should have known a coward like you would be here."

Louis frowned and raised his sword. "Coward?" he repeated dumbly.

"Aye, coward! Going against me orders, attacking a member of me crew, making deals with the enemy. I'd say you're well on your way down hell's path! Now stop repeatin' me words and fight!" Jack shouted, then turned swiftly and delivered his heel of his boot into an opponent's stomach. The man sank to the deck as Jack swung back around to face Louis, face stormy. "Raise your weapon, coward!"

The former crewmember seemed surprised before it suddenly seemed to dawn upon him that they were now enemies. He scowled. "So be it, shrill-gorged snipe! You'll die on the steel of my blade!"

Jack snorted. "When you stop spouting poetry we'll see if you've the chance."

Louis spat angrily and swung boldly. The two weapons met with a deafening clang that rang into Jack's bones. He grinned at the Frenchman over the locked blades.

"Now, why don't ye tell me where your new Captain's hiding?" he asked.

Louis pushed away roughly, unlocking the swords. "He isn't my Captain, fool. I'm merely along for the ride…as payment for my helping him find _you_," he grinned crudely, swinging again.

Jack smiled as he parried the blow easily. "Ah, then I suppose he won't miss you much, eh? Now that he's found me?" he asked, and stomped down solidly on his opponent's foot before slicing him cleanly across his hand.

Louis dropped his sword with a yelp.

And then, Jack's pistol was under his nose and there was suddenly no use for a sword.

Louis was horrified. "_Tricheur__!"_

Jack glared at his former crewmember. "_Pirate_, you backstabbing frog. I may as well slit your throat now," he growled lowly.

Louis stared at him wide-eyed.

With a look of disdain, Jack delivered a swift blow to Louis's temple with the butt of the pistol. His sword fell from his limp hands and he fell heavily against the rail of the ship. It took only a slight push to send the unconscious man falling to the water below. Jack watched the descent before turning, sword at the ready.

The battle hadn't calmed even as blood stained the decks.

Jack needed to find the Captain.

**--**

Anamaria padded near silently through the belly of the ship, poking her head into doorways and peering into storage cupboards. She wasn't positive where Vivien was, but she figured that she had been locked away in either a small guest cabin or the brig. The brig was less likely, but it certainly wasn't out of the question.

She planned to check every cabin before making a trip down to the hold, however.

The female pirate had just exited the crew's quarters when the sound of footsteps reached her ears. Hand on the hilt of her cutlass stuffed in her belt, she shrank back into the shadows, eyes trained on the passageway outside the room.

Moments later a tall, somewhat elderly man passed into view, carrying a pistol in one hand. He was out of her sight within another second, but the image of him stuck in Anamaria's mind. He was much too well-groomed to be an ordinary crewman. The Captain, she wondered?

Or someone else of importance?

Smiling darkly to herself, Anamaria slipped from the crew's quarters and followed the sound of his sea-boots on the wooden floor. Quietly, she slipped her cutlass from her belt and gripped it tightly in her hand. She stepped behind several barrels to hide herself and assumed watching the man. He stopped near the quarters near the end and faced a cabin to the side. The door was closed.

He fumbled a moment with his pockets, and Anamaria caught the faint glint of metal in the dim light.

Keys.

Vivien was inside that cabin.

**--**

"Antonio Eliado, Captain of this rotting Spanish vessel, I presume?" asked a confident voice from behind said captain as a blade of cold steel slid carefully along his neck.

Antonio, who had since fought off five men, killed two and gathered only a few scratches along the way, froze in his boots. He stood at the helm, overlooking the battle as he took a break from the fighting. How anyone had managed to sneak up on him was beyond the Spaniard. Clearly this man was very self-assured.

"_Sí_. And who might you be?" he questioned primly, tightening the grip on his sword, preparing to drive it backwards into his assailant's stomach.

The blade at his neck dug in the slightest and the man tsked to himself. "Not so fast, mate. Drop it."

Antonio's teeth clenched, but he dropped the weapon nonetheless. It fell to the deck and he was left helpless.

"So, what's the Captain of this vessel doing up here, I wonder? Hiding, perhaps?" the man wondered smugly.

Antonio's lips lifted in a sneer. "Merely…overlooking the outcome of the proceedings." His fingers moved slowly towards the pistol tucked in his belt.

"What an eloquent way of putting it," his assailant mused. "I think we both know, however, that the outcome of said proceeding are in my favour. And, if I might say…you're aren't up here watching. You're up here saving your own skin. Now tell me, am I right?"

Antonio's fingers froze just as they touched the butt of his pistol. Eyes widening slightly, he craned his neck back in an attempt to see his attacker.

"_Capitán _Sparrow?" he asked, an amused grin curling his lips.

"Aye," Jack spoke briefly.

Antonio's fingers curled slowly around the pistol. "We finally meet…albeit under somewhat strained circumstances."

Jack's eyes flitted to the ongoing battle below. "A fitting meeting, methinks, considering our positions."

"Enemies?" The Spaniard asked, and tugged the pistol free.

Jack grinned, letting his sword dig into the man's neck a bit more. "Mortal."

"Ah…too bad," Antonio sighed, reaching around to press the nose of the gun into Jack's side.

He froze, eyes darting briefly down to the pistol. Then, grinning, he slowly began to ease his cutlass from the Spaniard's neck. "You're sneaky, I'll give you that. But ye won't kill me with one shot, mate, not before I've sliced your throat."

Elaido realized the truth of his statement. "Alright. Truce?"

"I'll give ye five seconds." Jack removed his sword from Antonio's neck as he moved away from the gun.

In turn, the Spaniard dove for his sword as soon as he was free and was back on his feet and facing Jack within the allotted time. The pistol was once again tucked safely in his belt, and he noticed that Jack too had a gun. He had been wise in going for his sword and not trying to shoot Jack.

They faced each other, Jack inspecting the rings on his fingers while Antonio stood with his sword ready.

Jack squinted absently at the man before him. Long dark hair, dark eyes, well-proportioned face and fancy clothes with several glittering rings. He couldn't help but think Antonio Elaido was trying to impersonate him. Yet he was definitely not as attractive! Certainly not!

"You're filthier than I imagined," the Spaniard spoke bluntly, taking in his opponent's appearance.

Jack grinned, swinging his cutlass. "I'd imagine so! I'm a pirate after all."

Antonio frowned. This man seemed to take pride in his dirtied appearance and disreputable occupation. Of course, he himself was a bit of a pirate, but he considered himself with more class than men of Sparrow's line of work. He didn't raid and pillage for the pleasure of it—he did so if paid a very good sum of money.

"Where's your ship, _Capitán_?" he questioned.

"She's watching," Jack answered simply. "Now are we here to fight, or are we not?"

Antonio smirked, and they began to circle. "What? No demanding where your dear French damsel has gotten to?"

"She's safe. You, however…I've my doubts about you." Jack returned the smirk and beckoned the Spaniard forward.

Elaido sneered. "Foolish pirate!" he spat, and lunged forward, sword aloft.

Jack met the attack with a mad grin.

**--**

Vivien crouched in the shadows by the door, lantern clutched tightly within her grasp. The doorknob to her room rattled slightly as someone attempted to open it, jiggling the key about. There was a soft curse, and she heard the lock click. She watched it with wide, frightened green eyes.

An orange glow from the lanterns hanging in the passageway seeped into the room as the door swung open, shielding her from view. A dark figure stepped in, swathed in shadows. Vivien, however, knew who it was by his stance. By the sound of his rattling breath.

Belfast.

She sank further into the shadows as he stepped up to the cot.

"Vivien, my dear, I know you're in here. There isn't anywhere to hide," he cooed gently, leaning over.

Vivien wasn't fooled. Beneath his sweet tones was a hard man. A hard man spurred on by greed.

Earlier, she had stuffed her cot with her pillow and arranged the sheets to resemble a small form—herself. Now, as he stood at the edge of the bed, Vivien knew it was her time for escape.

The moment she stepped into the light of the open doorway, however, she heard the sound of a pistol being cocked behind her.

"Oh, come on now, Vivien. You didn't honestly think you could fool me, did you?" he asked darkly. "Now, turn around slowly and don't make a fuss. You're pirate captain is here and you'll do nicely as a bargaining chip."

Vivien bit her lip, legs trembling, and glanced down at the lantern in her arms. It was now or never, she decided with a shaky intake of breath.

Several things then happened in very quick procession.

Swiftly, she turned, and grasping the lantern's handle firmly, she lobbed it at Belfast's head. Then, she watched in horror as it shattered on the bulkhead by his shoulder, and he, surprised by the sudden move, fired the pistol. Vivien collapsed to the floor with a shriek even as the shot went wild, hitting the door.

Anamaria, who had been just outside the cabin, jumped into action as she heard the gunshot. She ran into the room, cutlass in hand—only to trip over Vivien, who was still huddled on the floor. She fell heavily onto her side, skidding to a halt at Belfast's feet as her weapon clattered out of her grasp.

He recovered quicker than any of them, and swiftly snatched up Anamaria's fallen cutlass.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he grinned, holding the weapon readily.

"A large, decrepit _rat_," Anamaria spat, struggling up from the floor to sit awkwardly before him.

"Careful with your tongue, lassie," Belfast sneered. "Vivien, get up!" he ordered.

Eyes narrowing, the female pirate shot a hand behind her in warning. "Stay where ye are," she commanded Vivien firmly, who froze on her knees, eyes wide.

"And who do you think you are, lassie?" Belfast demanded irately, cutlass pointed at the mulatto woman's chest

Anamaria smirked as if knowing some sacred secret. "Second mate to the _Black_ _Pearl_, ya buffoon!" Then, swiftly, she shot one foot up and knocked the cutlass from his grip with her booted heel. The weapon sailed through the air and landed atop the small cot. Belfast started towards it but Anamaria threw herself at him with a growl. "Get the bloody cutlass, Vivien!" she shouted, pulling the large man to the deck with her.

Panicked, Vivien did just that, scrambling up from her knees to pounce upon the cutlass as her friend and guardian wrestled upon the floor. Grabbing it by the hilt, she whirled about just in time to see Belfast overtake Anamaria and pin her to the floor.

"Anamaria!" she squeaked, holding the weapon awkwardly.

Growling, the female pirate twisted beneath Belfast madly, managing to dig her nails into his wrist. "Stick him with it, ya fool!" she shouted.

Belfast freed his hand and struck her across the face. His eyes were wild. "Don't you dare, Vivien!" he shouted.

Pulling her other hand from his grip, Anamaria punched him solidly in the nose. "Shut yer trap, old man!" She felt her strength waning. "Vivien!" she shouted irritably. "Slice him open with the bloody cutlass!" She yelped as he slammed the back of her head against the floor and lights exploded in her vision.

The Frenchwoman watched in horror as Belfast wrapped his large hands around Anamaria's neck. The cutlass weighed heavy in her hand, and she was almost unwilling to use it. But if she didn't…

Cringing, she came to Anamaria's aid. But instead of using the blade, she whacked Belfast hard on the head with the hilt. He fell limp atop the pirate, a groan dying on his lips.

She dropped the weapon as if it were a snake and hurriedly rolled her guardian from Anamaria's body, who coughed, and pulled the man's hands from her neck.

"Took ya long enough," she grumbled, struggling up from the floor.

Vivien grabbed her arm as she swayed, feeling foolish. "Sorry," she stated meekly.

Shaking her head clear, Anamaria pulled away and retrieved her cutlass. "Aye, well…" she paused and smiled at the Frenchwoman. "It's nice ta see ya, lass."

Vivien managed a shaky smile. "You too, of course." She suddenly felt elated. "But it took you long enough!" she retorted good-naturedly.

The mulatto woman grinned. "Belfast here's a slippery bastard." She kicked said man in the side.

As Vivien's adrenaline rush wound down, she once again heard the sound of battle above.

Anamaria read her thoughts. "Don't worry lass. The _Pearl__'s _men are twice the fighters these Spaniards will ever be." She lofted a brow cheekily. "And we got Jack."

Vivien's chest tightened at the pirate captain's name, although not in a bad way. She could scarcely believe how much she had missed him! What had changed, she wondered, from the days when she had cowered when he merely turned an eye on her?

"It'll be over soon," Anamaria spoke. "We should go before we're missed."

Nodding her agreement, Vivien watched as the other woman knelt beside Belfast's prone form and began search his clothes. Just as she was about to ask what she was doing, Anamaria stood up with a ring of keys dangling merrily on her finger.

"First, however, we'd best lock this weasel up tight."

**--**

Jack's very teethrattled in his gums as he blocked another stinging blow from the Spaniard. Despite his confidence that he would emerge from this little scuffle victorious, he admitted to himself that he had underestimated Antonio by far. After all, just because one was rubbish at captaining didn't mean one was equally horrible at swordplay.

Jack figured that if the Spanish captain had been as skilled at sailing as he was with a blade, he might have been more of a threat. But, as it was, the fight on the main deck was beginning to loose it's fuel as more and more of Elaido's crew were defeated. His, however, was just getting interesting. The two of them fought around the helm as if on some great stage as both their crews battled it out below.

Grinning, Jack landed a swift slice across Antonio's vest. A thin trail of blood was left in the blade's wake, but that didn't deter the Spaniard. He lunged across the helm, aiming to skewer his opponent. Jack was too quick, however, an deflected the blow with an upwards stroke.

Furious, Antonio struck again, driving Jack back towards the side of the ship with hard thrusts of his sword. Thrice he managed to land shallow slices on the other man, and the moonlight caught the blood upon his sword as he struck again.

Jack stumbled over a coil of rope and his back hit the side, a slow hiss of pain escaping from between his teeth. Antonio stood before him with his sword ready to strike.

It wasn't the end however. Jack Sparrow always had an abundance of tricks up his sleeve. Quickly, he caught hold of the shrouds and swung himself up, narrowly avoiding the sword. Now, feet planted firmly upon the rungs, he grinned down at Antonio.

"Now, now, mate, don't go cutting up your rigging."

Snarling, Antonio drove his sword through the ropes at Jack, who dodged easily and began clambering up the incline, albeit awkwardly because of his sword.

"Come down here, Sparrow!" the Spaniard demanded loudly.

"Actually, I'm quite fine away from your sword! Savvy?" Jack called back down, sheathing his weapon as he caught sight of a line hanging limp from the yard above him. Grinning, he leaned outcaught hold of it. Glancing down once more at Antonio, who seemed content to watch him from the safety of below, Jack launched himself from the rigging and into the foggy night.

He was halfway around the mizzenmast and very near to sailing out over the dark waters when he realized this wasn't one of his smartest ideas. Brilliant, yes, but sensible? Hardly. A wordless shout tore from his lungs as he spun, body suddenly boneless.

Below, Antonio watched with disbelief as Jack clung to the rope, swinging around in a wide arc before it caught on an adjacent line. Flight halted, the pirate was thrown boldly from the rope and tumbled into the battle on the main deck. Within seconds, he was lost amidst the men and darkness.

Growling irritably at both Jack's gameness and his own inability to defeat him, Antonio bounded down the steps to the main deck.

It was a very good thing that Jack had the ability to bounce back from most things, or he was sure he would have been lying on the deck like a limp pile of jelly. Jelly in pain. As it was, however, he managed to stumble upright just in time to deflect a sword strike from an enthusiastic crewman. He managed—weakly—to push the man away, and at the same time caught sight of two of his crewmen standing back to back, swords upraised. Kamau and Fowler, just the two men he needed.

It was time for the _Black Pearl _to make her grand entrance.

He fought his way over, ducking swords to avoid being nicked (which worked less than proficiently), and nearly collapsed on the side of the ship beside the two men.

They stared.

"Cap'n?" Kamau ventured.

"Sparrow! You coward of a dog!"

_Ah…yes…_Jack turned sharply, spying Antonio thundering through the battle with a snarl on his lips. He grimaced before facing his men and lowering his sword to speak. "The signal! Now is a very…_very_ good time," he stated breathlessly.

"Aye, Cap'n!" Fowler answered.

Jack whirled back, nodding hurriedly. "Good man."

And then he had jumped back into the fray.

Kamau looked to Fowler, who began to sift through his pockets, looking for something. A man of _La Sangre de Mar_ came screaming towards them in a mad fit, cutlass raised to kill. The black man glanced once at the Irishman (who was still busy with his pockets), before swinging his own weapon, hitting the cutlass out of the man's hand and delivering a hard punch to his nose.

The enemy pirate fell to the deck with a wheezy groan.

Kamau turned his attention back to Fowler just as he came up from his pockets with a triumphant look.

"Got it, then?" Kamau asked wryly.

"Aye!" the Irishman exclaimed enthusiastically, holding what looked to be a rounded flask with a fuse out of one end.

Kamau grinned. It was a handcrafted grenade. The signal.

Suddenly, however, Fowler's smile fell and he gave his companion a reproachful look.

"You haven't something to light it with, would ye?"

**--**

Young Roberts, temporary Captain of the _Black Pearl_, paced about the helm anxiously. The few men who had stayed aboard with him had long since hauled the boats back aboard, and now they were waiting. Waiting as the sounds of battle across the murky waters continued.

Captain Sparrow had said he would recognize the signal when he saw it, but what if he didn't? What if he missed it? If he was facing the wrong way when it happened, or if he was too distracted to notice? What if, at that very moment, everyone was being slaughtered because he hadn't had the sense to recognize the signal when he saw it?

What if…?

As Roberts was facing _La Sangre de Mar _as he stood at the helm, he had a clear view of 'the signal' when it happened.

A bright flash of fiery light accompanied the a thundering boom carried through the fog as a grenade exploded over the water.

That—that was it! Robert's face lit up with glee.

"Raise anchor!" he called down to the men onboard. "Captain Sparrow's calling!"

A cheer rose aboard the _Pearl _as the men crowded around the capstan.

**--**

Anamaria glanced up at the hatch leading up to the main deck. She was somewhat leery of leading Vivien up the ladder if there was still fighting above. However, it seemed as though she had little of a choice. She couldn't wait any longer and risk being discovered and trapped below.

She glanced back at Vivien, who stood behind her with a white face, trembling.

"It's think it's time we get back aboard the _Pearl_, eh?" She cocked an eyebrow at her companion.

The Frenchwoman managed a weak smile.

"Come on, then." Anamaria ascended the ladder quickly and pressed her hands to the hatch above. She listened a moment before pushing it open. Then, pulling her cutlass from her belt once more, she slipped out onto the deck.

Vivien watched anxiously as the female pirate crouched down beside the hatch.

"Come on!" she urged.

Shakily, Vivien made her way up the ladder and through the hatch. She flinched at the sound of battle, which was much louder up on deck.

"Now's no time to be fainting," Anamaria reminded her, and took a firm hold on her arm before tugging her along, away from the hatch.

Vivien glanced around the deck as Anamaria led them around the fighting men. There weren't many left fighting, a testament to the pools of blood creeping along the wood at her feet. She attempted to avert her eyes from the sight, but she couldn't ignore the killing going on around her.

Anamaria noticed her pale face.

"Don't worry, lass. Jack don't take to killing like most, so we tend to knock 'em out instead of gutting them. Most the men you see are unconscious," she assured her.

Her words didn't help Vivien however. She noticed with some panic that the _Pearl _was nowhere in sight.

"Where's the ship?" she asked as Anamaria pulled her beside a stack of crates, away from the fray.

The mulatto woman grinned. "I reckon she'll be here any moment…"

Then, as if her very words had summoned it, Vivien watched as the giant, ghostly dark shape of the _Black Pearl_ burst suddenly through the fog on the starboard side like a wraith from hell.

She leaned against the side of the ship with relief as the _Pearl__'s _men cheered loudly. An answering call was heard from the dark ship's deck. As well, those still fighting for _La Sangre de Mar_ seemed to realize they had lost the fight. Already, men were being rounded up and tied around the masts. Few were resisting.

Anamaria grabbed her by the wrist. "Come on. They'll come up alongside. We'll have to get aboard quickly before the cannons start firing!" she hissed, and began pulling Vivien towards the stern.

"Cannons!" the Frenchwoman was aghast, looking around wildly. "Surely you aren't going—" She stopped dead in her tracks as she caught a sight that froze her insides.

Huffing irritably, Anamaria whirled about. "What're ya—" She was cut off by Vivien's gasp.

"Jack!"

Sure enough, across the length of the ship, at the bow, was Jack Sparrow, currently engaged in a heated fight with Antonio.

Anamaria cursed. "That the Elaido pansy I've been hearin' about?"

Vivien nodded wordlessly as she watched the men spar, a look of both awe and horror upon her face. Thrust…block…swing…parry, the swords clashed loudly and she winced at each strike. She cringed as she watched Jack narrowly avoid being sliced across the stomach.

"Damn the man!" Anamaria cursed, torn between cheering her captain on or calling him a fool.

Abruptly, a grappling hook fell to the deck beside her before being pulled back and catching the ship. Anamaria turned to see the _Pearl _gliding beside them, not five yards away. The men were already laying out the boarding plank and tossing ropes to board _La Sangre de Mar. _She glanced back at the fight between the two captains.

The two men seemed to be locked in a battle of strength now, their swords crossed near the hilt and neither wanting to give in. They struggled for a few agonizing moments before Jack gained the upper hand and turned them sharply. The Spaniard's back was to the steps leading down from the forecastle. With one last shove, Jack sent Antonio tumbling down them.

His battered form lay crumpled upon the deck, motionless.

Vivien could have whooped for joy, but she was still shaking too violently for such things. Instead, she let a relieved sigh escape her lips. Her eyes were trained on Jack as he climbed wearily onto the side of the ship, one hand grasping a line.

"Load the cannons, ye swabs!" he called to the _Pearl _from his perch. "We have ourselves a victory!"

Eagerly, men began to swing back aboard the _Black __Pearl. _Antonio Elaido's crew had surrendered, weapons clattering to the deck as their hands were bound and they were secured to the mast. The Spanish Captain's sudden demise seemed to be lost within the ruckus and excitement.

Vivien felt someone grab her by the shoulder, and she turned sharply, breath hitching. Anamaria, now a sweaty Gibbs, stood before her.

"We'd best get aboard, lass," the portly man told her. "Reunions later, we promise." He winked with a grin.

Vivien opened her mouth, hesitating. She looked back at Jack, wanting to protest. Whatever words were on her tongue died instantly.

Antonio, unwilling to be defeated, had shrugged off the effects of his fall and was now struggling upright. Although his clothes were stained with blood, he seemed very much alive—and very much angry. He held a pistol in his hands.

Jack, unawares, stood facing his ship with a grin.

Ignoring Gibbs and Anamaria, Vivien darted forward. "Jack!" she shouted urgently.

He turned swiftly at the sound of her voice, eyes searching for her among the men. She seemed, however, to be suddenly invisible and unable to help him. Vivien watched with growing horror as Antonio fired. The deafening report echoed loudly in her ears. Time didn't seem to hasten. It slowed.

She stood immobilized as Captain Jack Sparrow fell.

**--**

**Translations:**

Mais premièrement...- but first...

Tricheur - cheater

Sí - yes

Capitán - well, I would think that obvious...

**-Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	24. Good Luck

**The Trouble with Women**

**Chapter 23**

Good Luck

**--**

The minutes after Jack had been shot became somewhat of a blur to Vivien. There was a moment of terror and deafness, her heart stopping and sounds blurring. Her stomach had lurched and her vision tilted suddenly, but then Anamaria had caught her around the waist and was wrestling her backwards, towards the _Black __Pearl_

Another struggle had broken out between the two crews, but all she could think was o_h Dieu, he's dead!_

The smell of gunpowder in the air seemed to assault Vivien's senses quite suddenly—she hadn't noticed it before in the excitement. This however, was not excitement. This was fear and dread. She was slipping in the blood that coated the enemy ship's deck. She was sick to her stomach.

Anamaria pushed her steadily along the boarding plank to the _Pearl _all the while shouting orders at the top of her lungs. Vivien seemed to recall that she was ordering the crew to tie _La Sangre de Mar's _men to their masts, kill all who resisted, and to help Jack.

Vivien sank down to the deck when she reached the _Pearl _attempting to pull her arm away from Anamaria.

However, the mulatto woman disappeared, and Vivien sagged against the side of the ship, closing her eyes tightly. The _Pearl _seemed dealthy quiet compared to the chaos aboard the other ship. She could hear it across the water, men being bound, gagged and disarmed, _La Sangre's_ dead being collected and tossed overboard. She let her head fall into her hands as the _Pearl__'s _crew began to drag their own fallen comrades to the deck with the sound of Gibbs shouting commands carrying over the gap between the two ships.

Midst the excitement, Jack was hauled aboard his ship, his feet half-dragging. He seemed strangely limp between the men who carried him, and Vivien couldn't see his face. The boarding plank was pulled away, and then she heard Anamaria's voice calling. Everything seemed too muffled, however, and Vivien continued to sit in a sort of terrified daze.

It was Gibbs who finally pulled her up, red in the face and eyes wild. "Get below with you!" he commanded shortly.

Vivien could only stare in fright. Gibbs huffed, looking away.

"Carry the wounded and injured down below!" he called to the crew. "The rest of you load the cannons! Aim for her lower decks and give the bastards something to worry about!" Gibbs ordered darkly before turning his attention to Vivien. He leaned down to speak over the noise the crew was making in their haste to obey orders.

"Get down below, missy, where it's safe and quiet," he told her, in a much softer voice than he had just been using.

Vivien nodded mutely, but he caught her arm before she could move.

"Go help Anamaria with Jack," he instructed. "Do us all a favour and try to calm him so Crimp can treat him without getting his head shot off."

Paling slightly, Vivien nodded again. Swiftly, she headed for the hatch, in all truth quite glad to be heading for the safety of the lower decks.

Gibbs's voice, however, halted her again.

"Vivien!"

She turned swiftly, ragged skirts swirling. Gibbs couldn't help but grin at her ragged appearance.

"Pleased to have ye back, lass!" he told her.

Vivien wasn't quite sure why, but that comment, coming from a man like Gibbs, brought a smile to her face (albeit a weak one). She didn't wait a moment longer before slipping down below and away from the chaos on deck.

A wave of recognition seemed to flow over her as she made her way along the passageway towards the Captain's quarters. She passed her own small cabin, but didn't investigate it further. There were several loud blasts from above, and the _Pearl _shuddered. Vivien scurried down the passageway, keen not to be by herself. However, the door to Jack's quarters was closed, and that worried her.

And, suddenly she wondered what _she _could possibly do to help the pirate Captain.

Nonetheless, she sucked in a breath of air and tapped on the cabin door. There was the sound of muffled cursing, several thumps, and then Anamaria stood before her, eyes wild and a rather large spot of blood smeared across her shirt. Vivien squeaked, staring at the red stain with wide wyes.

Anamaria, however, let out a sigh. "It's not mine, don't ya worry," she said shortly, before dragging the Frenchwoman inside and slamming the door behind them.

"If that ain't Crimp, there's gonna be hell to pay!" someone bellowed, and Vivien realized it to be Jack.

Several more blasts sounded then, and the ship beneath her feet seemed to quake.

"That's the cannons makin' short work of that Spaniard's ship," Anamaria told her, as if sensing her unease. "We'd thought he'd be out for a good while, enough time to get him patched up. But as soon as we got him in here he started ranting and raving like a madman—damn bastard," the pirate woman grumbled, pulling her through the ring of men to Jack's side. "Let's see if you can't do something." She released Vivien's arm.

Vivien stood, staring with horror at Jack. His entire left side and shirtsleeve seemed to be slick with blood, as well as the hand he had pressed over the wound. Two of his crewmen, Fowler and another man, had pinned him to the bed in an attempt to keep the bleeding man in place. Noticeably, it did nothing to ease the pain in his arm.

"Jack!" she squeaked.

At her sudden appearance, Jack's eyes darted up to meet her gaze and he seemed to slump somewhat on the bed, allowing the two men holding him to sigh in relief.

"I knew I heard you," he mumbled to himself, trying a grin that turned into a pained grimace. "Come down here, lass," he told her beckoning her to his side and resting his heavy eyes.

Swallowing, Vivien cast one wary glance at Anamaria before she hurried quickly to his side, smoothing her dirtied skirts before kneeling beside the bed. She leaned forward, waiting for him to speak again.

"Will you do me a favour…?" Jack breathed, cracking one eye open wide to stare at her.

Mutely, Vivien nodded.

He ground his teeth, shifting on the bed, but regretting the movement as he groaned and pressed his hand harder to the wound on his shoulder. "Convince these bastards to hand over my rum!" he demanded loudly, startling her.

Vivien was disappointed, and opened her mouth soundlessly a moment before turning sharply, her eyes seeking out Anamaria. They stared at each other.

"It'll give him a headache enough to split his skull in the morrow," Anamaria warned. "And I suspect he'll be hurting in other places, too."

Jack snorted, slipping his good arm from Fowler's grasp to prop himself up, much to Vivien's alarm and his pain. "How many times must I tell you, woman! I can't be arsed about—" he cut himself short with hiss, his entire face contorting as he jarred his injured shoulder. "Damn it all! Where in the bloody hell is Crimp!"

"Get back down on that bed, Sparrow," Anamaria growled, clearly having enough of his antics. Jack was pushed back down onto the mattress, further bloodying the sheets. His eyes slipped shut and he seemed to fall limp, sweat glistening on his face.

Vivien bit her lip in concern and turned to Anamaria, giving her a pleading look. Anamaria sighed, but gave up and stepped out of the ring of light momentarily.

Just then, the _Black Pearl _seemed to lurch beneath their feet, rocking the room.

"The sweeps," Fowler stated shortly.

"I reckon we showed them a thing or two," one of the crewmembers cackled.

Thankfully, the door to the cabin banged open just then. Anamaria handed over a bottle of rum to Vivien as the short, wiry form of Crimp burst into the room. Vivien hastily pressed the bottle into Jack's hands, and he seemed to spring to life once more, a grin showing more than one of his golden teeth.

"Well, there's certainly a crowd in here, isn't there?" he commented idly, pushing through the men and settling his kit on the floor beside the bed. He cast a smile at Vivien. "Nice to see you, Miss Brideau," he said before turning his attention to Jack. The pirate Captain had managed to gnaw off the cork of the bottle and lifted it to his lips.

"Nice to see you, too! Damn bastard!" Anamaria growled at the surgeon.

"Now, now, no time for hysterics, dear," he appeased and leaned over to pull the bottle away from Jack and handed it to Vivien. "That's enough for now, Cap'n." He turned to the men in the room. "Now, everyone out except for you Fowler, Anamaria and Miss Brideau here! We need as many hands as we can at the sweeps, Gibbs's orders!" he shouted.

The men obeyed hesitantly, and Anamaria closed the door firmly behind them. She turned back just in time to see Crimp making short work of Jack's shirt with a small knife. He tore at the fabric ruthlessly, and strangely enough, Jack didn't seem to mind.

She realized that he must be weak by now, from all his blood soaking into his sheets.

Quite suddenly, Crimp was tearing the last of Jack's shirt away to reveal his bare chest. She might have been in awe at some other time, or blushed heartily, but she nearly quite literally fainted when the bloody mess that was Jack's shoulder was revealed to her eyes.

She realized that Jack's hand had gone limp, and he was no longer holding it firmly to the wound. Red rivulets of blood streaked his skin, flowing across his chest and shoulder without restraint, and she felt herself pale several shades further.

"Don't go getting sick, now, Miss Brideau. I imagine I'll be needing your help," Crimp announced idly. "Fowler, I need water—_cle­an _water, if you don't mind. Anamaria, keep our Captain restrained just in case he decides to wake up. Vivien," he turned sharply and noticed her pallid appearance, "its best that you sit at the desk for now…"

Fowler returned with a basin of water and set it by the bedside, and was ushered from the room by Crimp.

Then the operation began, and Vivien was glad to be out of the way. The blood was too much, as was the sight of the nasty looking forceps Crimp was using to retrieve the bullet from Jack's flesh. Her eyes, however, stayed glued to Jack's shoulder through most the entire procedure. Despite being unconscious, he groaned and winced with each touch to the wound.

Finally, however, the bullet was removed and Anamaria pressed a bundle of clean cloth to the fresh wound, and Vivien sagged with relief as the bloody bullet glinted in the lamplight before Crimp had tossed it away.

"We're going to need that rum again…" the surgeon muttered to himself, retrieving the bottle from the bedside where Vivien had left it. She averted her eyes when he dampened a cloth with it and held it to the open wound.

Soon, Jack's upper chest was wrapped with bandages, and Anamaria helped tie them securely in place.

When the job was done, Crimp sighed and snatched up the dirty rag to wipe his hands clean. "That'll have to do for the moment. I have a good deal of the crew to deal with yet," he declared darkly. "He's got damn good luck. That bullet could have easily shattered his shoulderbone, and there where would he be?"

The two stood silent for a moment, their eyes fixed upon their fallen captain, his prone form lying on red-stained sheets, his skin pale and slick with sweat. Vivien was almost afraid to say anything.

Crimp threw the rag down and turned to Anamaria. "I suppose you should give an update to Gibbs. I don't want none of the crew in here till the morrow, though."

Anamaria nodded fairly the subtle order, letting it pass in thesituation."I've heard the count is thirteen gravely wounded. You'd better get a start on them," she told him.

Crimp nodded, looking her over. "And you'd better get in line. I'll clean that wound of yours," he nodded to her side, where a slice in her shirt was stained with blood. He turned to Vivien. "You, however, are going to stay here. Do ye know anything about caring for a wound?"

Vivien trembled slightly under his eyes, and watched as Anamaria threw her one last glance before exiting the cabin.

"The very basics—" she started.

"Aye, well it'll do," Crimp cut her short. "Keep and eye on him, and if he wakes up and starts moaning about the pain, give him rum. But not too much, mind you. He'll most likely try to drain a few bottles, but that'll add to the pain in the morning. Enough to settle him down is all," he nodded to her and continued. "Check his temperature every while, and if he starts getting hot be sure to come for me right away. That'll be the onset of a fever. It's best to keep his brow cool, so use the water there by the bedside, got it?"

Vivien nodded fervently, her fingers wringing themselves painfully. Crimp hastily began to gather his medical supplies.

"Oh," he added with an upraised finger. "And by no means are you to allow him out of bed or out of this room. If anyone comes knocking for him, tell them to bugger off. Jack won't be fit to Captain his ship for another few days. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Vivien replied.

Crimp grinned crookedly. "I'll tell Brill to send a bite to eat up for you too. I suppose you'll be here for the night."

And with that, the flighty physician had scurried from the room, closing the door firmly behind him. Vivien was left alone with Jack, her heart racing madly, although whether it was from adrenaline or fear she didn't know.

Shakily, she lowered herself into the chair by his bedside, her eyes roaming over his bandaged chest. His skin was terribly pasty under his tan, and he seemed almost fragile, breakable—something she'd never imagined Captain Jack Sparrow to be. She noticed also that he was terribly dirty. His hands were stained with blood and the kohl surrounding his eyes had been smudged with sweat. In fact, he seemed to be sweating quite profusely.

With determination, she snatched up the cloth soaking in the bowl of water on the nightstand and rung it out before tugging his bandana up and pressing the cloth gently to his sweating forehead. Several droplets trickled down his cheeks, but he didn't stir.

Vivien chewed her lower lip, a look of sorrow falling over her face. "Oh, Jack, I'm terribly sorry…" she said.

Her voice was much too loud in the empty room.

**--**

Vivien must have dozed off, because the next moment it seemed that someone was trying to knock the door down. Startled, she jumped up from her uncomfortable position on the chair, her neck stiff, just as the person on the other side of the door commenced with more pounding.

Her eyes went to Jack, where he lay in the same position, face pale and body glistening with a thin layer of sweat. Confident that he wasn't disturbed while at the same time scolding herself for not keeping and eye on him, she made her way to the door.

She pulled it open just as her visitor had his hand up to knock again. Or should she say…_visitors_?

Two young boys stood before her, one whom she recognized as the cabin boy (his name she couldn't remember). The other held a large platter in his arms, the top covered with a lid. The cabin boy held a bottle full of some dark liquid.

"Brill's sent us up with food, ma'am," the cabin boy stated politely, but at the same time was craning his neck in an attempt to see further into the cabin.

At that moment, Vivien just recognized the emptiness of her stomach. She hadn't eaten since her meager dinner aboard _La Sangre de Mar. _Quickly, she stepped aside, holding the door open to allow the boys in. "Well…come on," she urged them.

The cabin boy nudged the other forward, and immediately a small scuffle broke out between them in the doorway.

"Watch what yer doin' muzzlemouth!" he spat, stomping on the other boy's foot while holding the platter aloft.

"Watch yourself, fatface! Hand the damn food over or you're gonna drop it all!"

"Shut up! I'm the one to be serving 'er!"

Vivien didn't know whether to be more appalled by their language or their behavior towards each other. Nonetheless, she cleared her throat loudly, planting her hands on her hips while trying her best to look imposing.

"_Excusez moi_, but you…"

"Duncan and Rupert," the boy, Duncan, said immediately.

"Yes, well," Vivien tried out a glare on the two boys. "If you don't want to wake your Captain, I suggest you keep your voices quiet." _Très bon, _she congratulated herself as the two boys calmed down quickly.

"Be careful…I've heard she's a witch!" Rupert whispered rather loudly in Duncan's ear, before stretching his neck again in an attempt to catch a glimpse of Jack.

In turn, Duncan stomped on his companion's foot once more. "Shut up, balls for brains! She don't look like no witch to me," he hissed back.

"Ye know…you're right…"

"Course I am."

Vivien watched this with a look of bemused shock. "Are you coming in or not?" she asked finally.

"Aye," Rupert nodded hurriedly, "Is the Captain asleep?"

"He won't be for much longer if you two keep that up," Vivien scolded them. "Now, if you'll bring my supper inside _while keeping quiet, _I won't report you two to Anamaria." Truthfully, she didn't know what Anamaria could do about the two rude boys, but she was willing to bet they had imagination enough to think up a few things she was capable of.

Almost instantly, the two boys were marching obediently into the room. She watched with a small smiled as the platter and bottle were set quietly upon the table.

"Ere's your supper," Duncan announced, pulling the top of the platter. Vivien would have liked to see a cloud of steam billowing into the air, but aboard a pirate ship she almost knew there wasn't the luxury of fresh, steaming food. Not like Édouard could make it, anyway.

The mere thought of the man sent a jolt of pain through her insides. The nostalgia increased when she saw the state the food was in.

Rupert was pointing at the various items on the platter as he named them off. "Brill said that's fish stew and that potato…and that's supposed to be hardtack. But we're not sure, so I suggest you be cautious."

Vivien stayed silent, looking forlornly at the meal on the desk.

The two boys took advantage of her dazedness to peer over at Jack.

"How's the Cap'n doing?" Duncan ventured to ask.

Sighing, Vivien snapped back to attention. "As good as he can be, considering…" She shot the boys a look. "Now get along, the two of you."

"Aye, ma'am." Duncan quickly headed for the door.

"Good luck!" Rupert called back over his shoulder.

_Good luck?_

The door was pulled shut and Vivien was once again left in the lonely company of Captain Jack Sparrow. Sighing to herself, she took her seat behind Jack's desk and took hold of the bottle that had been brought in with the boys. There was nothing to pour it into, so she assumed she was supposed to drink it straight from the bottle.

She wrestled with the cork a moment before managing to yank it out with a _pop!_ She spilled some of the drink on herself in the process, but ignored that fact because she suddenly found herself insatiably thirsty.

Boldly, she lifted the whole bottle to her lips and took a large swig. The taste of it…well the taste was something else.

Vivien just barely managed to turn away from the food on the desk before she spewed out the liquid, gagging with her eyes watering painfully. Still holding the bottle by the neck, she wiped her mouth with her free hand, grimacing in disgust. _Mon Dieu! _What were they trying to feed her?

She looked back to the food on the platter. It looked twice as unappetizing now that she'd drank some of the most horrid tasting alcohol she'd ever encountered. Weakly, she re-corked the bottle and picked at the potatoes, which looked the safest to eat. She recalled the first night she'd had dinner with Jack, how she had been terrified that he had deliberately poisoned the food. Now she worried that she would be unintentionally poisoned and spend the rest of the journey heaving over the side of the _Pearl._

Vivien abandoned the food soon after, covering it with the lid just in case she changed her mind later, and stood up from the desk to make her way to Jack's bedside. Stifling a yawn, she soaked the cloth and once again set about dabbing at his brow like some old mother hen. She pressed the cool cloth lightly over his neck, and finally his collar before squeezing it out, wetting it, and repeating the process.

She set herself into a sort of rhythm as the hours went by, alternately pressing the cool cloth to Jack's forehead and pacing his room in an attempt to keep herself awake, peering at the odds and ends and books he had lying about. Soon, however, she returned to the chair, settling herself down with a yawn.

She hadn't noticed before, but through the porthole, Vivien could see that the fog had lifted and it was a misty, deep blue. Dawn was near.

She placed the cloth on his forehead one last time before resigning herself and leaning forward to rest her head over her arms on the bed. Just a moment, she thought to herself. Just a moment to rest her aching head.

Vivien was asleep within moments.

**--**

**Author's Notes: **Eek, over two months! What has possessed me to leave my fic alone for two months? Well, lets just say I had a horrible cast of writer's block (which pops up frequently and leave no survivors!) that's just now starting to leave me alone. I just couldn't figure out how to write this darn chapter, so I left it alone. For two months. And, after two months, I came back to it, re-read part of the story, went over some wonderful reviews and then sat down to write.

And voila! I'll have the next one out sooner, I promise!

Also, I'm sorry to do this, since we're already halfway through the story, but I really want to change the title. I've been keeping an eye out for one since I first began this fic. _The Trouble with Women _wasn't actually supposed to be the real title, just a working one. I was just having a bit of a creative block at the time. Anyway, here's what I've come up with: **A Woman of Little Importance**

What do you think? I won't change it if you guys tell me you hate it. I'm still a bit iffy…I'm rather attached to the current title, but this one seems to fit better with what I have in mind for this story. So, input?

Going on...I've slowly been re-editing the chapters, catching a few mistakes I missed when I first posted and cleaning things upa bit. I've also deleted the author's notes, and have decided I'll keep them up for about a week after posting before deleting them. Just so no one's confused or anything. ;)

**French Translations:**

Très bon – very good

Excusez moi – excuse me

**--Cayenne Pepper ****Po****wder**


	25. Solace and Stowaways

The Trouble with Women

**Chapter 24**

Solace and Stowaways

**--**

Jack regained his senses slowly, fighting through thick layers of fog that clouded his head and weights that pinned down his aching body.

He came to feeling as though his legs were chained to an anchor underwater with the surface only a few feet above him. Yet no matter how he struggled he couldn't get any closer. So, he lay in a state of paralyzed disorientation for what seemed like eternity, unconscious yet distinctly aware of the fact that he was lying down and his whole body seemed to be pulsing with a dull, fiery pain. It shot through his limbs with every beat of his heart, but originated in his left shoulder.

He was breathing, yet his lungs wouldn't permit anything but the smallest amount of air. He could feel, yet he couldn't move. His eyes moved behind eyelids that were too heavy to open, and his tongue felt thick and dry on the top of his mouth. He tried to swallow, but his parched throat only pained him more.

He wondered briefly if it was a dream, and then told himself that he had to wake up. What right did sleep have to trap him like this, in a half-conscious state of pure torture?

Jack resumed his struggle to the surface, imagining the sun glistening above him as he remained trapped in the silent, slow moving world of water.

And then, all at once, he could feel himself shooting upwards, the heavy chains around his legs breaking off. His head broke the surface.

Jack sat up with a start, eyes open and mouth agape as he gasped for air.

Of course, he regretted the sudden change of position moments later when a white-hot stabbing sensation took hold of his upper body, so painful he thought he might faint. And what a sight that would be.

With a strangled groan, Jack fell back, exhaling sharply as if he'd been hit in the stomach. Stars danced before his eyes a moment before his vision cleared, and he had to blink against the bright light that was assaulting him. He lay very still for a moment, letting the pain subside to that muted throbbing again.

The familiar smell was what he first recognized. Sea salt, sweat and the lingering scent of rum. Then there was the texture of the material beneath him, smooth and silky. Finally, when he managed to move his head away from the blinding light, Jack realized that he was in his ship, in his cabin, lying on his bed with the sun on his face and feeling as though he'd just been shot and crushed at the same time.

God, what had he done last night?

Upon further thinking, however, Jack couldn't drudge up a single thought of what had happened to him. He closed his eyes with a sigh, unwilling to move lest he upset that fiery pain in his shoulder.

An odd sort of noise caught his attention. What sounded like…

Snoring?

Jack's eyes snapped open. Yes, it was a soft snore, and thankfully not anything to be compared to Gibbs after he'd had one drink too many.

Slowly, this time, Jack turned his head to the side, cautious of any sudden pain. And there, slouched over his bed while sitting on a chair was Vivien Brideau, brown hair fanned about her neck and face, blissfully unaware, fast asleep and snoring.

Memories hit him suddenly like a slap in the face.

_La Sangre de Mar, _the attack, Captain Antonio Elaido _(that sneaky Spanish bastard!),_ and finally the shot. The shot that had actually knocked him off his feet, and then the sound of Vivien's voice. Then a lot of cursing on his own part…and not much more after that.

Gingerly, Jack used his right hand to finger the bandages on his chest, just to make sure there wasn't more damage he wasn't aware of. It seemed, however, that he hadn't been crushed. Just shot, and his body very sore.

And damnation, he was parched!

Moistening his cracked lips with his tongue, Jack turned his head, and with his limited view, peered around for something to quench his thirst. There was nothing, and he would have groaned aloud with disappointment if he wasn't wary of waking the Frenchwoman. He noticed dark circles under her eyes, and could only guess that she'd been the poor soul set up to watch him while he lay unconscious.

He would let her sleep.

Jack lay still for a moment,eyes closedand inhaling slowly. Then, setting his jaw firmly, he managed to inch upwards off the bed, using his good arm to prop himself up with an almost agonizing sluggishness. His heart was already thumping loudly in the confines of his ribcage, his breathing short and ragged. Beads of sweat sprouted on his forehead as the strain on his injury increased with every movement. Resilient as ever, Jack pulled himself towards the edge of the bed, using his legs to manoeuvre himself awkwardly, and all the while mindful of his newly acquired bruises. He managed to drag himself until he lay diagonally along the bed, his head peering over the edge and Vivien mere feet away. He huffed and puffed slightly, but found exactly what he was looking for. It was a discarded, half-full bottle of rum lying abandoned on the floorboards.

Eyes shining and grinning with triumph at this small feat, Jack twisted uncomfortably, stretching his right arm down to retrieve the bottle. It was just out of his reach, mere inches from his fingertips.

Sweat glistened on his face, his body well aware of the burning pain searing along his nerves, and the exertion he was putting himself through for this small task. Yet he stretched further, nostrils flaring, a strangled grunt vibrating in his throat. He nearly whimpered as the tips of his fingers just brushed the bottle. His hand was shaking now. Steeling himself, he managed to edge further off the bed; just far enough to wrap his hand around the bottle and pull…

He froze abruptly, suddenly aware he was loosing his balance. Ungracefully, he tumbled head first to the floor with a loud _thump_.

Vivien cut herself off in mid-snore, starting awake when she heard a crash and vehement swearing.She jumped up from the chair, knocking it over in the process, and was quite surprised to find Jack Sparrow on the floor by his bed; legs tangled a bed sheet and rum bottle in hand as he swore angrily. But then she realized it wasn't in _anger _that he was swearing, but in pain.

"_Mon Dieu!" _she cried, looking chagrined. "Jack!" She hesitated, hands askew with a frantic look upon her face, before she went down to her knees beside him. Swiftly, she forced him to lay on his back, taking some pressure off his wounded shoulder.

The pirate lay, gasping in pain, chest rising a falling rapidly, as Vivien huddled over him, quite near chewing her lip off in worry.

"Are you alright?" she questioned hesitantly, because he certainly didn't _look _all right and she felt foolish asking him.

Jack exhaled through his teeth, staring up at her. "My apologies for the rude awakening," he wheezed after a moment.

"Yes, but are you alright?" she prompted, her hands hovering above him uncertainly.

"Yes, yes, fine!" Jack waved her off, using his uninjured arm to prop himself up. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to—ooow!"

Awkwardly, Vivien grabbed hold of Jack, well aware he was wearing no shirt but telling herself there was time to blush over it later, and helped him sit as he clutched one hand to his shoulder in pain.

He batted her hands away gently when he was sitting, however, huffing to himself. "Thanks," he told her briefly.

Vivien sat in silence, watching him keenly. Jack turned to her irritably, a frown on his face. "I'm fine!" he insisted loudly. "Perfectly fine! Now stop asking!" Then, with a hint of humour in his dark eyes, he calmed and gave her a golden-toothed grin. "And, I'd be much better if I off this floor and 'tween the sheets in me bed. With a helping hand, of course."

Vivien actually smiled, and obliged willingly, taking Jack's hand and helping him stand. He stood wobbly, at which point she held a hand to his shoulder and felt his body shaking with strain. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the bed with a blissful sigh.

"And a bottle of rum wouldn't hurt, either," he added.

Against her better logic,Vivien retrieved the bottle he had been after and gave it to him. He thanked her and uncorked it with a look of triumph. She watched in chagrin as the remaining half was emptied within seconds.

"Much obliged," Jack thanked her with a contented sigh, voice smoother with his throat moistened.

"_De rien_," she replied shortly. There simply wasn't the need for too many words. And Vivien would have liked to keep her attention somewhere else, very aware of the half-clothed pirate beside her. _An injured pirate, _she reminded herself, and taking the wet cloth from the bowl on the nightstand, she squeezed it out and pressed it to his forehead. He didn't comment on the gesture.

There was still silence on the cabin for some time, Vivien sitting on her chair and Jack lying with his eyes closed, silently battling the pain in his shoulder. It was he who broke the silence.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, glancing sideways at her.

"Only the night."

He sighed with relief. "The attack?"

"It went as planned, I suppose," Vivien replied, not knowing what else to say and not sure she wanted to.

"The men? How many were injured?" he questioned.

"I don't know. Crimp is with them," she said truthfully, not knowing anything else.

Jack hummed a sort of reply before turning his head to look at her. "And you?"

Vivien blinked in surprise, meeting his eyes. "Me?"

He managed a smirk. "How are you?"

She couldn't help the smile that pulled at her lips. "Much better off than you."

Jack chuckled, and let his eyes slide shut. He lay still, feeling his body succumb to slumber.

Vivien watched as he fell back to sleep without another word, exhaustion catching up with him. It was the first time she had ever watched him simply sleep, and she found herself admiring the angles of his face. She caught herself when her gaze wandered down his chest and further.Nervously, she stood up from her seat.She did a haphazard job of straightening the sheets, her mind her own distraction.

It was morning, and she decided it would be a good idea to find Gibbs or Anamaria and inform them that their captain had woken.

First, however, she scouted the room for any more stray bottles of rum, and hid them out of sight. _No temptations._

Vivien stayed a moment longer until she was positive Jack was asleep. His breathing was deep and even. Even so, she cast a few backwards glances at the pirate captain as she opened the door to his cabin and slipped out. She shut it with nary a sound.

Unwilling to dwindle down below where it was dark and there was sure to be rats, Vivien quickly made her way up on deck. The first thing she noticed was not the sun shining brilliantly above them, but the lack of crew on deck. Only a few men were working around the ship, few in the sails and few on deck. She wondered just how early it was.

Vivien spied Gibbs at the helm, and for a moment thought he looked very out of place there. Nonetheless, she ascended the stairs to the helm, and the portly man greeted her with a grin.

"Vivien! Glad to see you up and about. Crimp says he checked in on ye this morn and ye and Jack were sleepin' like babes," he gave her a wink and a chuckle. Despite any grievances he might have with the woman aboard the ship, he was friendly towards her as usual.

Ignoring the teasing, Vivien fixed him with a curious look. "Where's the crew?"

Gibbs gave a short chuckle. "Unlike you, lassie, half the ship was up 'til dawn at the sweeps since there weren't no wind. They just got to bed a few hours ago, and I don't see no sense in waking them. And with all the injured men and all…" he trailed off. "'Sides, it ain't as if anyone's following us!" Again, he chuckled to himself. In a devious sort of way, Vivien thought.

"The ship…what did you do?" she asked, thinking of Belfast's face the night before, crazed and furious.

Gibbs fixed her with a serious look. "Well, Jack's plan o' course. We tied 'em all to the masts and blasted a few holes in the hold. I reckon it'll keep 'em busy for a few days, if'n they don't sink."

Vivien tried to imagine Belfast drowning, fighting off advancing waters as the ship beneath him slowly succumbed to the ocean, but the image didn't seem right. She shook it from her head.

"We'll have smooth sailing to Cape Town," Gibbs told her.

"Cape Town?" she echoed curiously.

"Port town n the southern tip o' Africa, lass," he explained. He watched her eyes widen and grinned. "You've come a fair ways from old Saint Denis, eh?"

Mutely, she nodded, still somewhat stunned. How long had it been since she'd been kidnapped from her home? It seemed like years, but in truth it was only a few weeks. She heaved a sigh, although not necessarily a sad one.

Again, she peered around the deck, squinting through the sun's glare. It was amazing how the weather had cleared so quickly.

"Where's Anamaria?"

"Down below, I wager, helpin' Crimp with the wounded. She sailed half the night andhasn't gotten a wink." Gibbs kept his eyes on the horizon ahead. "Speaking of sleep, lass, I hope ye weren't up till dawn hovering over Jack Sparrow," he looked down on her as if already knowing the answer. "Crimp told me you was as white as a sheet when he left."

Vivien supposed this was the time to tell him. "Jack woke up."

Gibbs looked stunned. "He what?"

"Woke up," she repeated, and continued. "Before me, actually. I woke to find him scrabbling about, half on the bed, trying to reach a bottle of rum," she recounted, still somewhat confused from the encounter.

Gibbs roared with laughter,smacking the large wheel heavily. "And what did you do?" he asked, grinning.

Vivien hesitated, still wondering if she had done the right thing. She'd made Jack happy, right? Drunkenly happy, of course.

"Gave him the rest of the bottle," she answered, wincing.

Gibbs shook his head, but was still grinning. "And he's sleepin' like the dead, now?"

She nodded mutely.

The portly man nodded sagely. "I reckon he'll wake with a headache the size o' Madagascar, what with the injury and all the rum he be downin' lately. But it'll serve 'im right. Crimp won't be too pleased, though," he said. "Speakin' o' the bugger, you better find Crimp and tell him Jack was awake. He'll want to see the cap'n an' make sure everything's all right."

Vivien nodded obediently, and turned to leave.

Gibbs's voice stopped her. "Oh, and after you find Crimp you better make your way to the galley, lass. You look famished."

**--**

It was just early enough to start breakfast, Brill the cook thought to himself as he made his way from the crew's quarters. The rest of the crew were just starting to rouse themselves afterGibbs's rude wake-up call, and he figured it would be a good hour before they started making their way to the galley demanding food.

Humming lightly to himself, the portly man lit a lantern as he entered the galley, and quickly disappeared into the small kitchen.

There, he began the tiring task of choosing what to serve for breakfast. There were little choices, and he decided to boil hardtack in rum and what little brown sugar he had left on board. They were running low on supplies, but thankfully they were to arrive in Cape Town's harbour in no later than a day.

Humming to himself, Brill was just about to haul out the cauldron and light the stone hearth when there was a loud clamour from behind him.

Spinning on his heel, the plump cook eyed the kitchen floor, looking for rats. He'd been telling the captain for months now that they needed a cat, but was he listening? Obviously not. He didn't seem to mind that his ship was infested with rodents.

When Brill didn't see hide nor tail of any such filthy animals, he shook his head with a sigh and pulled out the large cauldron from it's hiding place.

Yet, there it was again, an odd noise sounding suspiciously like a…sneeze?

He whirled about, eyes settling on the cupboard that harboured the flour and potatoes. Or what was left of the flour and potatoes. Eyes narrowing, Brill found his large serving ladle before venturing to find out what it was. Maybe there was a nest of rats. That would explain it.

Venturing closer to the cupboard, he adjusted his grip on the ladle until he was sure he had a secure hold. Then, reaching out slowly, plump hand trembling somewhat, he closed his fingers around the small doorknob and turned.

He'd barely managed to inch it open when something _very _large forced the door outwards. Letting out an undignified yelp, the cook jumped away from the cupboard and watched as something tumbled out, landing upon the deck in a cloud of flour.

It took him a moment to realize it was a person—and certainly not anyone _he _knew.

And it _moved_.

With a terrified shout, the fat cook fled the galley, ladel in hand.

**--**

Vivien returned the Jack's quarters before heading to the galley, the image of him straining to reach a bottle of rum with no consideration to his wounds much too vivid in her mind. Mercifully, however, Jack Sparrow was still asleep when Vivien returned, and was snoring quite loudly. Nonetheless, she loathed to leave him alone, as much as it chagrined her to admit it. He just didn't seem the type to stay abed, no matter how life threatening his condition seemed to be.

Crimp bustled in just then, looking all business.

"All right! I hear the captain's awoken from his slumber!" he grinned at her. She sat perched on the edge of her chair at Jack's bedside.

"And then fell back to sleep," she added.

"I'd be surprised if'n he didn't," Crimp murmured, and strode forward, pulling the sheets from Jack's body in one swift motion.

Vivien wondered if she should leave then, but was more or less forced to stay as Crimp began to chatter as he worked, pressing the back of his hand to Jack's forehead and listening to his breathing.

"When he wakes up next, tell him to stay in bed. It's not good for the wound for him to be up. And you should bring him something to eat—I'll inform Brill that he's awake. He'll have a broth made up. And don't give him any more rum. I imagine he's got one hell of a headache," he said as he carefully peeled back a layer of bandages. "And remember, don't let just anyone come barging in, especially if the captain's sleeping!"

Vivien nodded absently in agreement, chewing her lip as she observed him.

Crimp stood from the bed and turned to eye her. "And don't give him a shirt, because then he'll want his coat, and then he'll be dressed up to get up, and that ain't happening. And don't let him bribe you! Or boss you. He's wounded, and you got _my_ permission to refuse his demands. And for god's sake, don't let him trick you!"

Vivien swallowed, sincerely hoping she wouldn't have to follow any of his advice.

Crimp nodded in approval and headed for the door. "Good. Now I'm off to the galley. You listen to my advice and his wound should heal nicely." He stopped before opening the door and turned back to her. "And I suppose you should get something in you, too. You're lookin' like a ghost."

She heaved a sigh when he disappeared out the door, and waited a few moments before deciding to head out herself. Her job was done for the moment (whatever that job was), and she'd twice been instructed to get something to eat. And her stomach had no qualms with that idea.

Yet she hesitated at the door, looking back at Jack's pale form lying motionless on the bed.

And, as luck would have it, Jack Sparrow took that very moment to stir.

_So much for breakfast, _Vivien thought ruefully.

"Bloody 'ell, I feel as though I just got crushed by an elephant," he groaned in a raspy voice, lifting a hand to his head. She had a feeling he was talking more to himself than her.

"I'm sure you'd be in much more pain if that were true," she spoke lightly.

Jack's eyes snapped open as she spoke, and sought her out amongst the room.

"It's still morning," Vivien told him, for a lack of anything better to say.

He merely grunted in response, his eyes sliding shut.

Once again, she began chewing her bottom lip when he made no move to speak or acknowledge her further. Was she to leave? Was she to stay? Her stomach was telling her leave, that was for sure.

"Rum."

The word was spoken so low and gruffly that Vivien wasn't sure she had heard him right.

"Pardon?" she asked meekly.

Opening his eyes, he fixed her with a pointed stare. Obviously, his mood had worsened while he slept. "Rum. I need rum."

_And don't give him anymore rum, _Crimp's voice told her wisely.

"Rum?" Vivien repeated dumbly.

"Yes, rum!" Jack growled, losing his patience. He struggled up on one arm as if trying to get out of bed. "And since I'm awake I'll need to speak to Gibbs and Anamaria."

She cringed at the tone in his voice.

_Bon Dieu, he's wounded, flopping about in his bed, hardly able to sit, and you're frightened of him! _that niggling voice in the back of Vivien's head mocked her. It was right, as usual, she knew. It was very unlikely Jack would harm her after going through the trouble of tracking her down and rescuing her. Of course, he may be cross, be he couldn't very well get out of bed to do anything about it.

Besides, she reminded herself, she was acting on strict orders from Crimp.

And with that, Vivien planted her hands on her hips, sucked in a breath, made sure he was paying attention, and did a very good imitation of _him_ looking down _his_ nose at _her_. "No."

He looked very disgruntled, and she quite enjoyed it.

"I'm sorry, _what_?" he demanded incredulously.

"I said no. No one is to see you, you aren't supposed to be out of bed and you may not have anymore rum."

They stared at each other a moment, Jack's face a picture of shock and Vivien's one of stern defiance.

"No," she repeated simply, just in case he was _too _shocked to understand. _Très__ bien, Vivien._

Looking at a loss of words, Jack lowered himself back onto the bed. He was silent for a moment, but she should have known he wouldn't give up so easily.

"Just a sip?" he asked, rather humbly.

Vivien refused to be swayed. "I know it won't be a _sip_."

"I'm parched."

She was rather amazed how pitiable the infamous pirate captain could sound. "I'll fetch you some water."

"The only drink aboard this ship right now is rum an' grog," he told her.

"Then you'll have grog."

Jack's whole body seemed to droop in defeat. "Aye, grog it is," he said sullenly. "In the chest in the corner there, you'll find a few bottles," he told her, waving a hand weakly to the far side of the cabin.

Vivien wondered if he was trying to trick her, but went to the chest as directed. She opened the lid, ignoring the jarring squeak of hinges, and stared down at the assorted bottles stacked inside. Carefully, she took one from the chest and wrestled the cork from the top. It pulled free with a _pop _and Vivien sniffed its contents carefully. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Ah yes, she remembered this drink well. It was the same drink the two boys had given her last night. With a bit of effort, she forced the cork partially back in and stood.

"I'm not sure if grog is any better than rum," she said, but more to herself.

Jack heard her, though. "But what else is there to offer?" he asked cheekily in return.

_Good luck, indeed, _Vivien thought of the cabin boy's departing words. Sighing, she returned to the bed and handed the bottle over.

He took it gratefully, lifting it to his lips with a smile. He took a sip, but then froze with a sudden thought as if the grog had made him realize some great secret. He stared up at her then, brow furrowed. "_You_ are not the same lass I knew a week ago," he told her in a tone suggesting he'djust stumbled upon a treasure chest.

"What?" she asked, surprised.

A slow grin spread across his face, showing a few golden teeth. "There's something very…" he flapped his hand with the bottle still in it, fighting for the right word, "_Subtle_. A subtle change, but just enough to be noticeable." He squinted at her, dark eyes seemingly black. "I've no doubt about it. There's something different about you."

Vivien looked at him, and then at the bottle of grog. Then, she told him in quite a matter-of-fact tone, "I've no idea what you're talking about, Captain Sparrow."

Jack peered up at her in a way that pleaded with her not to lie because it was so painfully obvious thatshe was. "I think you do," he replied shrewdly, lifting the bottle to his lips. He paused, though, dark eyes still on her. He recalled that night on his ship, when he'd served her the remains of the spoils from her house to coax information from her. She seemed to speak willingly after he'd prodded enough. "Sometime since Belfast took you in Ambodiforaha, and in the time I've spent looking for you, you have changed."

Vivien stared at him hard as he drank deeply. She wondered what he was talking about. Different? She didn't look different, she was sure. But did she feel different? What was he getting at?

"I…" she trailed off.

Jack blinked up at her. "What is it?" he asked, if it was some great secret he was trying to coax out of her.

She watched him warily. "I...still don't know what you're taking about."

He regarded her with eyes that seemed to peer into her soul. "Do you want to know what I think?" he asked, and continued before Vivien could say no. "I think that you believed I wasn't going to find you."

Her eyes darted to his very quickly before finding the floor.

"Am I right?" Jack asked, sounding quite confident.

Licking her lips, Vivien debated what to say. _Bon Dieu, _did this man know what he was doing? Digging up and sifting through her feelings when she just barely had them together again! Trying to make her look like a fool when she had already done it herself? Pushing her to admit how little faith she held in him or anyone when she already knew?

She didn't _want_ to say anything, but she did. "Belfast…has a way of wearing you down," she told him, and as soon as the words were off her lips, was mortified.

Jack wasn't so surprised, though. Right now, the woman in the room with him had to be the closest to the _real _Vivien that he'd ever seen. She seemed so different from thefrightened woman he'd brought aboard his ship three weeks before.

She glanced at him only to find him watching her intently. Attempting to fight the blush threatening to rise, she continued. "It was partially my fault, I suppose. I'd told him that I'd shown you the location of the treasure, hoping into frighten him. To throw him off. But, he told me if you knew where the treasure was, you had no reason to come back for me. And then he said to me…that he had an island…an island much like L'île du Bourbon, where he would build a house and keep me there, and leave me there. And then _I _realized there was no way y-you…could find me."

_Bastard, _Jack thought, thinking of Belfast and watching Vivien's face as she relived the memory, sad and confused. Belfast the bloody bastard. He was sorry he hadn't done more to Elaido's ship.

"And then, somewhere in those days, I nearly believed him." She stared at him, green eyes wide. "How can you find a person if they're hidden, and would it even be worth the trouble?"

There was silence in the cabin. The Frenchwoman was intent on staring a hole into the floor and Jack was quietly contemplative. Not since she had told him about her guardian so many days ago had Jack the privilege to hear what was really going on inside Vivien Brideau's head. And Vivien was a mess of feelings because she realized she _had_ changed. Just a little. Well, not necessarily changed...but _grown_. Grown up. Conquered her petty fears (or at least a few), had stood up for herself, and spoken her mind without any harsh penalties.She'd never had the chance to do it before. She wouldn't have even noticed if Jack hadn't took it upon himself toinform her. And now they both knew.

"I would have come," Jack told her solemnly after a moment.

She looked ot him, her eyes silently pleading with him to tell the truth.

"With or without this grand treasure you're leading me to," he added with a grin. And how he wished to ask more about the treasure! He realized, however now was not the time. Not yet.

_With or without this grand treasure..._It was about that moment when Vivien remembered with a sudden jolt she had no idea where she was taking him—to the Caribbean, but then where? Yet no matter how much she tried to open her mouth to say more, to explain, even just to give a simple 'thank you,' her throat had closed and her tongue would not work.

And Jack Sparrow was none the wiser.

**--**

By the time Vivien had made her way to the galley, she thought she might faint with hunger. It was still early, but the crew had been roused and were up and about the ship. She noticed the stares from the men and smiled at them, but many didn't smile back. Several greeted her, but nothing more. The crew of the _Black Pearl, _it seemed, was not exactly happy she back aboard

Vivien descended the steps to the galley in silence, and pushed open the large wooden door.

The tables were deserted, but she heard voices from in the kitchen, and ventured further into the galley.

Curiously, she entered the small kitchen, but froze in shock at the scene that greeted her.

Gibbs, Brill and a man she didn't recognize were in the middle of some sort of heated debate. Normally, she wouldn't have found this too odd, but generous amounts of flour had been scattered about the floor, covering Brill and the man she didn't recognize—who also happened to be tied to a chair.

They froze when they saw her, looking just as surprised as she.

Then, the man tied to the chair grinned at her charmingly. "_Señorita_! Thank goodness someone has come! Take pity on a poor man, _por_ _favor_!"

Vivien was dumbfounded, surprised that the man had turned to _her _for help.

Gibbs sighed, running a hand over his face. "Vivien, meet our latest stowaway, Carlos."

"Stowaway?" Vivien echoed.

"A Spanish rat from that cursed Spanish vessel!" Brill spat distastefully. "Hiding in my pantry with the flour! I have no flour now! How can I cook?"

Carlos sniffed with as much dignity as he could in such a position. "It was crawling with weevils, _señor! _You cook with that?"

"This is a ship! What do you expect you Spanish bastard!" Brill cried in outrage, his face turning beet red.

"No excuse!" Carlos shot back. "If this was my kitchen, there would be no weevils, no rats, and _no_ bags upon bags of salt and sugar to cover the taste of _bad cooking_!"

Gibbs groaned, shaking his head. "Come off it, ye fools! We've been over this eight times!" he barked angrily before attempting to look pleasant for Vivien. "What are you looking for, lass?"

Vivien was still shocked at the scene before her. "I came for breakfast," she said simply.

Carlos, still tied to the chair, looked ecstatic at her answer. "You want food? _Me, _Carlos Portillo de Cartagena, will make you anything you want—better than this Englishman! I only ask you untie me!"

**--**

**Author's Notes: **Why, hello there! Long time, no see, eh? Again, I'm sorry for the delay. Ihad this chapter typed up and finished weeks ago, but I ended up agonizing over the characters. I was so nervous about posting it that I kept it and edited it about ten times before I was satisfied. :P On another note, I'm still trying to decide whether or not to change the title. I'm rather attached to the one I have now, so maybe I'll keep it.

**Translations**

De rien - you're welcome/ it's nothing

Très bien - very good

Por Favor - please

A big thank you to my wonderful reviewers!

**OffTheDeppEnd **(Don't be too concerned about the new title I came up with. I intended it to sound a bit ironic, because Vivien is by no means a woman of little importance. Just look at all the crazy goons she has after her ;P) **CaptainTish **(An injured Jack isn't as fun as a healthy Jack? Well, I don't know about that. And I'm glad you like those two cabin boys. We all need comic relief :P) **morph **(I had my doubts that I could properly write that operation, but I found as many recources as I could and did my best. I'm glad to hear it turned out all right) **Hils **(Lol, thanks for your words. I think the problem for me now isn't writer's block but laziness. Go figure.) **Ani**** Sparrow **(I know it's cruel how we all just love to injure Jack. Poor guy can't catch a break with us.) **Takma-rierah **(You may have a point. I find that if I wait long enough, readers that wouldn't have necessarily reviewed before take it upon themselves to give me a verbal smack on the head. Oh well, all the better for me!) **Jousting Elf with a Sabre **(That's okay, my French is still quite primitive compared to my English.) **vrykyl **(You have no idea how much my ego appreciated your comments!) **Cari**** Shidao **(I wouldn't kill Jack off! Not so early into the story, at least…) **velly **(I haven't died! And I'm sorry for leaving you hanging. I don't mean to make everyone wait. Really.) **Hells Tenshi **(Don't worry, I won't stop writing. I'm always writing, but it just takes me a while to form a decent chapter :P) **ChaosLightning13 **(Jaffa warriors, eh? Lol. Well, all the same, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't send them after me.) **Eccentric Banshee **(You must bethe only one who loves Antonio. Sheesh. You know, he's supposed to be a bad guy:P Lol.More Jack/Vivien vibes to come!) **Emma** (Eek! Endless thanks for the wonderful compliments!) **Polychrome **(Two months? Don't be silly! Lol.Vivien appreciates thecompliments;) And don't worry,I doubtshe'll be playing daring heroine anytime soon—or at least not in _that _way.) **Kaellana **(I'm overwhelmed with all the nice words everyone's giving me! Thank you! I'll never get tired of hearing Vivien describes as 'refreshing!') **phicaddictdpiratephantomprsnya **(Okay, okay! You've got your update. How about a review?) **Vagrant Candy **(It's okay to be late, just look at me! And all 24 chapters in one sitting? Lol. I'm happy my story merits that sort of attention! And maybe I'll keep the current title if it's still reeling readers in.) **Sparrow's Lovely Lass **(Lol. Thanks.) **ICRepresentative **(Thanks for your comments!) **Miss Amy Lynne **(Well, I hope you liked this chapter as much as the rest of the story.) **Woe Kitten **(Thanks, I'm glad you think so!)

Okay, now, tell me what you think in a review! ;)

**--Cayenne Pepper Powder**


	26. Cape Town and Open Waters

The Trouble with Women

**Chapter 25**

Cape Town and Open Waters

**--**

Gibbs rocked a bit on the heels of his feet, watching anxiously as Crimp inspected Jack's wound, and at the same time attempting to relay to his captain any news while attempting to ignore the fits of curses he went into as he was poked and prodded.

"God dammit, man…! _Gibbs_, I trust you can sail the _Pearl _into harbour without incident?" Jack demanded, grinding his teeth together as Crimp peeled back the bandage congealed with dried blood.

Nodding hurriedly, Gibbs affirmed, "O'course, Jack. I've got it all under control." He visibly grimaced as the messy wound was revealed, the skin around it bruised and red. "No need to worry – no worrying to be done there! It's all worry free, sir, so don't you go worrying."

Jack cast his first mate an incredulous glance. "Can you or can you not?"

"Aye!" Gibbs burbled loudly, watching as Crimp began poking and prodding around the wound. "I can! Done it many times, if'n you recall."

Slapping away Crimp's hand, Jack sent the surgeon an irritated glare before staring pointedly at Gibbs. "Then get to it Joshamee. We're coming in fast, so get the French flag up and anchor us just offshore. Don't attract too much attention and go about your business peacefully, savvy?"

Gibbs nodded again. "Aye, Cap'n. Will do." He watched somewhat hesitantly as Crimp urged Jack to sit up and wrapped new bandage around his shoulder and torso.

Jack sighed in relief when it was done finished, and again turned his attention to Gibbs. "Aye, now go do your job…and get the lass in here while you're at it. I need a word with 'er."

Gibbs gave him a curious look, "But Anamaria's overlookin' the ship right now, Cap'n."

"Not Anamaria," Jack said. "_Vivien_, Gibbs, Vivien."

--

Vivien watched curiously as Carlos stirred the concoction in the cauldron. It smelled delicious, yet she had no idea what he'd added to it and that worried her slightly. She'd never seen anything like it in Édouard's kitchen back home, and wondered if it was Spanish. She'd never eaten anything authentically Spanish before.

"If you're worried I've poisoned it, that would be foolish," the Spaniard declared to her after her staring had become too obvious.

Vivien shifted slightly on her chair and licked her lips. "Why?"

Carlos turned an eye to her. "You've done much for me, _Senorita. _I would not return your kindness with harm." He was referring to the mess she had gotten him out of, pleading with Gibbs not to toss him in the brig. He seemed perfectly harmless, and she had been eager to see if he really was as good a cook as he said he was.

So, she'd somewhat hesitantly led the Spaniard below and given him the smallest cauldron she could find, and stood fretfully at the entrance to the small cooking area while Carlos rooted through the supplies. Only when it became apparent the crew was focused on deck and unlikely to come below anytime soon did she calm down.

Vivien smiled and Carlos returned it. Then, shuffling around the small galley slightly, he produced two bowls and spoons.

"And for keeping me company, _Señorita_, you will have the first taste my _cocido _stew," he declared, and stirred the cauldron once more before taking a large ladle-full and transferring it to a bowl.

It steamed and bubbled and Vivien's stomach did flip-flops. He handed it to her with a spoon and Vivien placed it carefully on the counter, unwilling to spill any. Then, she took a spoonful and savoured it, because it was surely the best stew she'd tasted in a while.

"You like?" Carlos asked, grinning. He must have seen the look of heaven on her face.

She nodded enthusiastically. "I've been eating stale bread and gruel for weeks…this is wonderful," she said, then blushed immediately afterwards. She ate another spoonful quickly.

"Do you think your captain will allow me to cook?" he asked.

Vivien looked up at him. "He would be crazy not to," she declared with a smile.

Just then, someone could be heard thumping down the stairs to the galley, Vivien's heart jerked in her chest, and Gibbs appeared several moments later.

"We're coming into Cape Town, Vivien. Jack's asking for you…" he trailed off and sniffed the air with a surprising amount of daintiness for such a large man. "What's that smell?" he queried curiously, all former thoughts vanished.

Carlos grinned, smoothly producing another bowl from nowhere. "My _cocido _stew, _Senor _Gibbs. It was the only thing I could think of making with your meagre supplies, but Vivien tells me it is quite good. Would you like a bowl?" he asked, and was already ladling it full.

Gibbs looked quite shocked when he tasted it, and swallowed hurriedly. "You can cook?" he demanded.

Shrugging, Carlos said, "I told you I was cook, _Senor_. Carlos Portillo de Caratgena was a well respected and admired chef in his homeland – until I was captured by filthy pirates and forced to slave in a galley!" This was explained with such vehemence that Vivien actually flinched.

Gibbs chose to ignore the speech. "Aye, but you're a damned good cook!" he exclaimed through another mouthful of stew. Vivien watched in amazement as he finished it all in what seemed like seconds. Then, discarding the bowl to the side, he pointed seriously at the Spaniard.

"You are going ashore with the men to get food supplies," he established simply, then looked to Vivien. "Would you mind visiting the Cap'n? He's feeling a bit catty – I'd say the lack of rum."

Vivien nodded, managing one last spoonful before pushing her own bowl to the side.

Gibbs thanked her, and then added as an afterthought, "And tell the blighter if he tries weaselling his way outta bed I'll lock him in there. He's getting a bit antsy and'll only tear open his wound. I'll be taking over temporary captainship for our stay – I ain't _taking_ over, just _directing_…and Anamaria supports my decision one hundred percent," he said the last line hurriedly, as if the idea of opposing Jack was making him slightly nervous.

Vivien only nodded.

--

It was perhaps a good thing that Vivien entered Jack's cabin when she did, because he was in the middle of balancing, one hand on his bedpost while his legs trembled with the effort of holding his weak body upright. She froze at first, first because he was half-naked without a shirt, and then because she wasn't expecting Jack to be so foolish.

There looked to be a thin sheen of sweat over his whole body. Vivien saw his arm shake violently as it gave out, and she rushed forward just as he began to collapse, not catching him (certainly not!) but shoving him backwards none-to-gently onto his large bed. He shouted in surprise, but bounced harmlessly on the mattress.

He stared up at her with wild eyes. "_What_...?" he gasped out.

"_What_??" she returned back in a screech with a look matching his own.

The stared at each other with equal looks of surprise.

Vivien refused to back down. At this rate, she realized that Jack was likely to hurt himself and was not about to let that happen. "You could – could have _fallen_ you…you…_foolish_ man!" she stuttered, sounding less impressive than she would have liked.

Jack grasped his arm near the wound, gritting his teeth. "Aye, but then there is no progress in life without pain!" he snapped at her, eyes screwed shut.

Vivien swallowed thickly, chewing her bottom lip hard before making a weighty decision. Carefully, slowly, she took a seat beside him on the bed. Then, turning slightly, she reached out, trembling slightly because her nerves were still buzzing, and rested a hand on his good shoulder. Feeling the warm skin beneath her fingers sent a jolt through her chest.

"Are you…in pain?" she asked quietly.

Jack hesitated before answering in a distinctly sullen tone. "No."

Releasing his shoulder, Vivien watched him a moment. There was a distinct furrow in his brow and a purse to his lips. He refused to open his eyes, and she sighed slightly before shifting slightly on the bed and warily, gradually lowering herself down to rest beside him, albeit with a good two feet between them.

Heart thumping in her chest, she wondered what in the world she was doing, but forced herself to stay rigidly still. Nervously, her hands twisted in her lap. She waited, somehow knowing that the right thing was to wait. And stay.

Jack spoke finally, and his accent seemed to be thickened and his voice gravely, "You're awfully courteous to an old sea dog such as meself."

Vivien swallowed, said nothing. Silence reigned in the cabin for several long moments, causing a ball of unease to start rolling around her chest.

"You're wondering why I asked for you," Jack began, subjects switching and gladdening Vivien. His next words did not. "Dorian Belfast."

Again, Vivien began chewing on her bottom lip.

"He knows where that treasure of yours is, don't he?" Jack asked.

"Perhaps he has always known," she murmured. Suddenly restless, Vivien sat up and perched stiffly on the side of the bed.

"He has that map o' yours?"

Vivien heaved a rattling breath and nodded. "He must have," she confirmed shortly.

"And he doesn't intend to give up so easily, if he was willin' to sail all the way to Africa to retrieve you…to stop you from tellin' and to kill me for knowing," Jack concluded lowly, and the ball of unease in Vivien's stomach grew.

Quickly, she stood from the bed, took several steps forward, froze, and began to pace. She wasn't usually a pacer, but she suddenly had bounds of pent up energy in her limbs.

Behind her, Jack eased himself up and sat still, watching her movements. "I'm not fool enough to believe that we've stopped him," he went on. "I recall you telling me once, with the utmost conviction, that Dorian Belfast does not give up his possessions so easily, and will do anything to get them back. Now, a man like that…he isn't going to let anything stop him, is he?"

Vivien felt a chill run through her.

"He'll follow to the ends of the earth, won't he?"

She stopped pacing.

"A man obsessed? He won't stop for anything."

She turned to look at Jack, eyeing him carefully as if she knew what he was getting at. "I don't suppose he will," she responded, but sensed that Jack wanted more than her agreement. He wanted to _know_. He wanted her to tell him where the treasure was – before it was too late, he was saying. He wanted her to _trust_ him, to give him her last bargaining chip willingly.

She would have told him in a second, truthfully, if she could.

They regarded each other silently for a moment, each thinking their own thoughts.

Jack's eyes narrowed slightly in scrutiny. "Although…I suppose this discussion can wait for another time," he finished slowly. "After all, I won't be expecting Belfast to find another ship anytime soon."

Vivien looked heavenwards for a moment, letting out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. To thank Jack for letting off would have admitted that she was hiding something, and she didn't want that. She needed _his_ trust.

Just then, the ship gave a groan and a lurch, and the sound of voices shouting on deck was loud through the wood. She glanced at Jack, only to see him looking upwards with a crooked grin on his face.

"We've arrived," he said simply.

"Yes," Vivien mused simply. She hadn't entertained the idea of asking Jack or Gibbs if she would be allowed on land for the day. She was almost positive the answer would be no – but only for her safety, of course.

"The crew will be going ashore," Jack went on. He grasped the post of the bed and levered himself up slightly. "And I will be going on deck."

Vivien blinked at him a moment, dumbfounded, before protesting loudly. "But surely you should rest?" She took a step towards him and hovered nervously.

"Been resting all day!" Jack proclaimed. "And you wouldn't think it, no, but resting gives you a ravenous appetite – I happen to have one now."

Frowning, Vivien curled her hands into fists, remembering Gibbs's words to her. "Then I will bring you something!"

Glancing up at her with dark eyes, Jack frowned. "I also happened to suffer from a peculiar sort of cabin fever – _claustrophobia_. Makes me go a bit, _you know_." He waggled a finger around his temple. "I've been known to get a bit rowdy – nearly cleaved Gibbs' arm off, once!" He laughed to himself, then.

Vivien regarded him with a mix of unease and determination, unmoved by his words.

Jack rolled his eyes. "If you'd be so kind as to fetch my _hat_…" He struggled placed both feet on the floor and was about to stand before he realized that Vivien hadn't moved an inch. He looked up at her, perplexed. "What?"

She avoided his eyes. "I'm sorry, but I've been given orders not to let you leave this room."

Jack stared at her, quite flabbergasted. Orders? Not leave his room? Who exactly was the captain of this ship?

"Well, that's fine and dandy, love, but I'd like to leave this room and to do so I need my _hat_. As well as my coat…and a shirt would do, too," he told her in a matter of fact tone, standing shakily and valiantly trying to hide his discomfort.

Taking a step back, Vivien again recalled the orders she'd received. _Mon Dieu, why me?_

Well, she was Vivien Brideau of course, and fate liked to give her the worst of things.

"Gibbs would like me to inform you that until you're no longer…indisposed, he will be taking up temporary captainship," Vivien tried again, clasping her hands before her tightly. Her attempt to placate him only seemed to outrage him, however.

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off quickly.

"And if you argue, he also said to inform you that he has no qualms with locking you in here until he thinks your wound is sufficiently healed," she continued hastily.

Jack stared at her for a long moment, eyes dark, mood considerably less light, before shaking his head ruefully. "All right, I can't say I have much to complain about with a nurse as lovely as yourself," he grinned at her, enjoying the indignant blush that stained her cheeks. "However, next time you see Mister Gibbs, kindly tell him to shove 'is orders up 'is fat arse. I'll resume being captain when I'm ready, a not a moment later."

Vivien nodded once in agreement.

"And that moment happens to be now," Jack added.

Again, Vivien agreed.

"Splendid," Jack exclaimed cheerily. "Now, lets see about something to eat for ole Jack 'ere, ay?"

**--**

Jack had not been happy when Vivien broke the news to him about the new stowaway aboard his ship, but Carlos was a chef and Jack was hungry. The food was good, so Jack decided that he would greet the man civilly when he returned, and then thoroughly berate Gibbs for withholding information from him. He was displeased with that, of most things.

Vivien leaned against the rail of the ship and surveyed the port town before her. Jack was doing much the same from his position at the helm. She suspected that standing there was a sort of healing in its own way. Though his ship was not moving, he was clearly in control of it. He was leaning less heavily upon the wheel, as well, and seemed not to be exhausted at all. She began to wonder if the _Pearl _could perform strange miracles, because this seemed to be one of them.

Vivien tore her sight from Jack to inspect the large harbour they had anchored in. Surrounding the _Pearl _was a plethora of other ships, all flying different colours, some smaller, some bigger. Looking up, she could see a French flag flapped merrily on the _Pearl's _mast. They were under no scrutiny by their floating neighbours.

Far across the harbour, she could just make out the shapes of people walking along the docks. The buildings stretched from the waterfront far into the hills where large mountains loomed in the distance. Below, the water was deep and dark, but she could occasionally make out the outlines of fish swimming in schools around the hull of the _Pearl._

Beside her, there was movement, and the two cabin boys who had served her supper while she had watched over Jack were beside her, peering over the rails with looks of longing.

"I ain't ne'er been to Africa," the one, Duncan said wistfully in a little boyish way.

Vivien returned her gaze to Cape Town. "Me either," she acknowledged.

Rupert, the other cabin boy, gave a snort. "Sail aboard the _Pearl _for year an' you've been everywhere there is to be," he told them. "I been to the colonies, I'vry Coast – Corsica, where them pirates be called corsairs an' sail 'round in little toy ships!" he laughed.

Duncan gave the other boy a hard glare. "Aye, but you rarely get to go 'shore, do ya?" he sneered.

Rupert sneered right back. "Still bin there. More'n you can say!" he taunted.

Vivien watched curiously as Duncan grinded his heel into Rupert's toes with a vengeance. Then, the two boys dispersed with a flurry of curses and vanished below. Shaking her head slightly, she turned her gaze back to the water. There were several rowboats headed in their general direction. A bird circled over them, its bright plumage unmistakable.

--

The rest of their stay in Cape Town passed without much of a hitch.

Upon the crew's return to the ship with supplies, Jack was welcomed back with the cheers of a hero, and he took to the praise and well wishes with the air of a damaged martyr. In fact, he was in such a good mood that Gibbs received no immediate tongue-lashing and Carlos escaped his notice completely. Vivien watched as the cook fled from the deck as soon as all the crew was aboard and descended into the galley.

Then, she turned to watch as their supplies was carted aboard, hens, a goat, several pigs, crates and barrels, sacks of flour, sacks of rice and fruit of every imaginable size and shape. For the remnants of the day, the ship was alive with activity: the crew rowing back and forth to deliver supplies, Anamaria shouting orders and the men shouting back at her. Good naturedly, of course. Everyone seemed to be in a jolly mood.

Vivien stayed to the side and watched the sea for most of the day; she watched how it stretched on forever and wondered what lay behind them on that dark horizon.

--

Gibbs had been waiting for it, of course, but when it finally happened, he was near shaking in his boots. It was silly, really, because Jack Sparrow wasn't the most intimidating of men. But doors to the captain's cabin closed behind Gibbs with the finality of an officer's command to a firing squad. Before him, Jack took several paces into the room before turning swiftly to regard his first mate.

Gibbs found it disconcerting that only that morning Jack had been confined to bed, near helpless and clearly in pain – and now he stood before Gibbs with only the slightest of discomfort. Quite unfortunately, he seemed good as new, and quite peeved as well.

He swallowed, feeling sweat bead on his forehead with the intensity of his captain's dark gaze. He waited. He waited for what seemed like hours to receive the kickback his earlier orders merited. He waited until his left foot started going numb before he finally couldn't take it anymore.

"Cap'n Jack, sir?" he questioned hesitantly, squinting at said man who hadn't moved and inch and for all he knew could have turned to stone.

But no – an eyebrow twitched, the corner of his mouth dipped down the slightest.

"I'm waiting for a witty excuse, Joshamee," he explained patiently, almost pleasantly.

Gibbs shifted slightly on his feet, easing his weight to his right. "No excuse, Cap'n. Only your best interests in mind," he said honestly.

Jack narrowed his eyes. "My interests are my own," he snapped back. "And any more interfering on your part, Joshamee, and count yourself demoted to deckhand where I don't have to deal with your meddling. Are we clear?"

Swallowing, Gibbs nodded. "Aye, we be clear."

Jack finally moved, wandering over to his desk where a bottle sat open and half-full. "Sometimes my best interests are not the same as the crew's," he told Gibbs, reaching for the bottle. His hand froze before contact, however, and retreated. He turned to his friend. "For example, it may be in my best interest to stay anchored here for one more day or so, but we won't. We will leave tonight for the Caribbean, when there no one awake to notice, and we will sail straight for open waters with the best of speed. The reason, Joshamee, is because we are being pursued by someone who could rightly be considered a crazed madman. And we've dealt with these unsavoury types before, haven't we?"

Gibbs regarded Jack without speaking. The pirate captain stepped forward until he was nose to nose with his first mate. Their eyes locked in a staring battle, a contest of wills.

"Madmen do not stop for anything, Gibbs. Therefore, we will no stop for anything. Not even me." He stepped back.

"Aye, Jack," Gibbs agreed gravely, the seed of understanding blossoming in his mind. "Shall I inform Anamaria?"

Breaking eye contact, Jack gazed around the room. "Aye, but wait till after sup. A man doesn't want to listen to a squawking woman while he'd tryin' to eat, savvy?" There was a hint of a grin in his voice.

Gibbs managed a chuckle, "Aye, that'll about do it."

"Good," Jack declared with finality. He moved around Gibbs to leave the room, but halfway through the door he froze and turned back. "By the way…excellent job gathering supplies," he chirped and slipped from the room.

Gibbs let loose a huge breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding and had to shake himself before he felt ready to follow Jack down to the galley.

--

As soon as the captain entered, the galley was filled with a roar of hearty cheers, applause and the banging of bowls upon the table. Several crewmen launched into a joyful albeit skewered rendition of "Captain Kidd," singing uproariously:

_'Is name is Cap'n Jack,  
As 'e sailed!  
'Is name is Cap'n Jack,  
Many daftly things 'e did,  
God's laws 'e did forbid,  
As 'e sailed!_

And Jack took a small bow (with a slight grimace from the pull in his shoulder), swept the hat off his head, and took his seat midst his men. He surveyed the room with a critical eye, almost too aware of the celebratory atmosphere and the merry faces of his crew.

From his seat just to Jack's right, Fowler leaned over and said, "Glad t'have ye back in the mess, Cap'n!"

And across from Jack, young Roberts was grinning. "Aye, we had to put up with Old Nob's stories instead of yours!"

Gibbs interrupted, taking the seat to Jack's right. He slid a bowl filled with a greenish, gooey contents in front of Jack and place his own before him. He looked at it doubtfully, then glanced at Jack.

"It don't look edible, does it?" he asked.

Jack wrinkled his nose. "Where is that damned little Spaniard? I thought you said he could cook."

Fowler snorted. "That skinny, manky fella?" he asked, but went on without waiting for an answer. "Shoulda seen 'im and Brill milling earlier! Brill threw 'im straight out o' the galley! Sez 'e won't have a Span'sh weasel in 'is kitchen!" He laughed.

Jack frowned. Gibbs wrinkled his nose.

Roberts nodded enthusiastically, "Then Miss Brideau, kind hearted lady – she excuses herself and goes after the blighter!"

Jack promptly lost his appetite and pushed the bowl as far away from him as he could.

--

On deck, the darkness was inky save for the one lantern hanging by the mainmast and the area it illuminated. Vivien did not find Carlos within the light, but huddled up on the stairs leading to the quarterdeck.

She approached him slowly and sat down just a cool breeze from the water swirled on deck. The _Pearl _creaked as she swayed gently. In the surrounding waters were the looming shadows of ship and lights twinkling across the water. Cape Town's docks, however, were dark and silent.

Carlos shifted slightly as she settled beside him, turning his head to glance at her. He looked morose.

"Why weren't you down below having dinner?" Vivien asked finally, her eyes straying to the lone lantern in the centre of the deck.

It was a moment before he answered. "Ah, I felt it was not my place to be," he told her, his accent thick.

"Why not?" she questioned curiously. "Everyone eats together in the galley."

Carlos shook his head, his dark hair moving slightly in the cool, silent wind. "No, I am a stowaway, _Señorita._ I do not belong down there with the others." He sighed heavily, and Vivien became concerned.

"You're a part of the crew, though. Gibbs says so – you're to help Brill with the cooking!" she protested.

But Carlos merely shook his head. "No, this, this _Brill…_this man does not want my help. He refuses to let me near the supplies, and instead he makes…_gruel._" He spat the word with bitter distaste. "What man, with all those spices and foods at his fingertips, makes gruel for a meal!? _I _could make _cachelada_ with _puré_ _de_ _patatas_, or _besugo_ _al_ _horino_ with _barquillos_! _Calamares fritos! Manitas de cordero, caldereta gallega, salpicón de mariscos, y sopa de gallina!_"

Vivien gaped at him.

"No," he continued resignedly. "I am not welcome in the galley. I am not welcome on this ship."

Frowning, Vivien chewed on her lips for a moment. Beside her, Carlos was shaking his head in apparent despair. Vivien thought he was being rather melodramatic now, but she couldn't blame him.

"Have you heard how I ended up aboard this ship?" she asked him hesitantly, finally.

Carlos shook his head sullenly, but looked over at her nonetheless. "You are not a pirate, are you? You're far too pretty to be a pirate."

Blushing hotly, Vivien glanced away. "No, I'm not really a pirate. However, my father was," she told him, then paused for a long moment before continuing. "My mother died…giving birth to me and my father was left to take care of me. But he had a ship, you see, and his ship meant very much to him…So he bought a house on L'ile de Bourbon and hired a man to look after me, Aumary, and he went to sea." She glanced over at Carlos to see if he was paying attention. He was staring ahead intently, a frown on his face. Nonetheless, she continued. "I don't recall seeing very much of him, but he sent me letters often," she recounted, smiling sadly. "A man came one day – his name was Dorian Belfast. He brought news of my father's death in a storm. He and his crew perished. His ship sank. I was very young, however, and I don't think that this news meant much to me then…" she paused to take a deep breath and focused on the lone lantern swaying slightly in the wind. "Shortly after, Aumary died. Dorian Belfast became my new guardian, and I grew up in that house with him dictating every movement that I made.

"However, there was one thing that Dorian new nothing of, and that was the map my father had sent me just before he had died. It was a map that marked the coordinates of his treasure – the treasure he had amounted over his years of piracy. He left it to me." She stopped and laughed softly then. She noticed that Carlos was focused on her intently now, and continued on. "It was silly idea, really, because it's brought me nothing but trouble since. About two weeks ago Captain Jack Sparrow came knocking on my door, wanting to know where this treasure was...and when wasn-, I mean I _didn't_ tell him, he forced me aboard his ship, the _Black Pearl_." She patted the wood of the steps almost fondly. "Dorian, of course, took chase –"

"You're the one they were speaking of!" Carlos interrupted suddenly, his eyes wide. "The woman they held captive!"

Vivien regarded him pensively. "Yes…you see, Dorian sees my being kidnapped as a threat to his _investment_ in me – my father's treasure. I'm not here of my own free will, but it's far better than living under Dorian Belfast's watchful eye."

Carlos gaped at her.

"What I was trying to say, though, was that I'm not a pirate. I don't belong here either. When I first came aboard, the crew avoided me," Vivien recalled. "I was less than a cabin boy; I was locked in my cabin and several of the men on board wanted nothing more than to toss me overboard – including Anamaria…several times." She looked over to Carlos. Her throat was beginning to get dry from so much talking.

The Spaniard was staring at the deck, now, his brow furrowed.

She licked her lips. "Give them all time and they'll become as used to you as they are to me," Vivien finished, and they both fell into silence.

They sat there until the first watch came up from below, then parted ways and went to their separate beds.

--

Much later, while Vivien lay half-asleep in her cot, the _Pearl's _wood creaked in awakening. The anchor was hauled in and the sails were lowered. The cool night wind caught her and she slipped out of Cape Town's harbour under the protective blanket of night's darkness.

--

**Author's Notes**: It's been a while, hasn't it? You wouldn't believe how good it feels to finally post this chapter. I'm relieved, and I'm over the 100,000 word mark! Just because I'm feeling particularly cheery at the moment, I give you all permission to call me horrible names in your reviews! ;)

I'm relatively happy with this chapter. I've only gone through it twice, however, so be warned: there are probably still a few grammar mistakes and such around.

Also, I've taken off the HIATUS on the summary, but this story is still under revision. I'm about on chapter 9. So far, some changes are bigger, some aren't. Mostly it's just fixing grammar. There aren't any huge changes to the story. Feel free to read those chapters over and tell me what you think.

Thank you all for waiting for so long. Hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner. Until then, you can always check my livejournal (link on my profile), to see how my stories are coming along

-Cayenne Pepper Powder


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